


Heart of a Hunter Act V

by MuchAmused



Series: Heart of a Hunter Saga [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean Winchester Whump, Dean Winchester is Protective of Reader, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, Medical Procedures, Medical Professionals, Medical Trauma, Protective Dean Winchester, Reader-Insert, Whump
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-07
Updated: 2020-07-28
Packaged: 2021-02-27 04:41:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 29
Words: 56,035
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22151200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MuchAmused/pseuds/MuchAmused
Summary: When a case takes you and Dean and Sam no further than your own backyard, you rely heavily on your medical background to get close to the victims in an attempt to keep them alive long enough to save them. What you can’t predict is the danger that comes even after the case is solved….
Relationships: Dean Winchester & You, Dean Winchester x Reader, Dean Winchester x doctor!Reader, Dean Winchester/You
Series: Heart of a Hunter Saga [7]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1209615
Comments: 118
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

“Hey guys, so get this … ”

Dean groaned and got to his feet immediately, making Sam pause with bewilderment. “I’ll throw some snacks and drinks in the cooler,” Dean said. 

You stood up and put down the book you’d been reading, then on second thought, picked it back up to bring it along with you for the ride.

Sam guffawed indignantly. “Hold up. Guys…. What if I’m not talking about a case?”

“But you are,” Dean deadpanned. 

You shrugged in agreement when Sam looked to you. 

“I might not be.” Sam crossed his arms and looked between you both.

“But you are,” Dean repeated, brow furrowing.

Sam’s mouth opened like he wanted to argue. “I - I’m not that predictable.”

You took a step closer to him, putting a hand on his shoulder. “I love ya, Brawny. You know I do. But anytime those words leave your mouth, there’s always something to kill.”

Sam practically flinched for dramatic effect. “Not always.”

You stared at him. 

Sam took a deep breath, huffing as he shifted his weight. You raised an eyebrow at him, challenging him to argue. But he seemed to think better of it.

“Well?” Dean prompted. “We going or what?”

“Going where?” Sam asked. “You still don’t know what I was even going to say. You’re terrible listeners. Both of you.” He included you with a glance and you stuck your tongue out at him like a perfectly grown-ass woman.

“I’ll grab your duffel for you,” you told Dean, earning a thumbs-up from him in return.

Sam let out a humorless laugh. 

“Come on,” Dean told him. “You can fill us in on the way. Grab your shit. You wanna burn daylight or burn rubber?”

Fifteen minutes later the three of you had your duffel bags in the trunk and Sam was teasing you about the fact that it was his turn to ride shotgun. 

Dean started the engine and glanced at Sam. “Where to, little brother?”

You watched the exchange from the backseat with mild amusement.

A small smile crept across Sam’s face, in spite of himself. “South on 281,” he answered. “We’re only going as far as Wichita.” 

Dean pulled out of the garage and onto the road.

“Right in our backyard?” You leaned forward far enough to pat Sam’s shoulder playfully. Then you offered him an olive branch in the form of a Red Vine. He hesitated but took the bag from you. Sam pulled a rope of licorice out and took a bite from the end, his face screwing up with disgust.

“God, I don’t know how you two eat this shit. It’s … it’s like eating wax.”

“Hey!” you called out in mock offense at the same time Dean reached over and snatched the bag from Sam.

“No one forced it down, Sammy. You can just say no.”

Sam tossed what was left of his piece of licorice at Dean, smacking him in the chest before the piece landed somewhere in Dean’s lap. 

Dean muttered, “Bitch,” as he retrieved it, and after only a second’s consideration, took a bite.

Sam chuckled, gazing out the passenger window with a slight shake of his head as you took the licorice bag back for a second piece.

Dean had the good sense not to pick on Sam further just then, choosing to adjust the radio dial instead. But you didn’t miss the little wink he gave you through the rear view mirror.

Once you were on the highway Dean turned the radio down so Sam could fill you in on what he’d found.

“Mystery illness claims the life of high school senior,” Sam read from a headline on his laptop.

You chewed on a red-vine, soaking up every word and trying to commit the details to memory as Sam continued reading the article. 

“18-year old Wichita native Curtis Matheson passed away on Sunday at Kansas Medical Center after attempts to treat a mysterious illness failed to save his life. Curtis was an accomplished athlete and played on the varsity football team at Valor Hall where he also put great priority in his studies, carrying a 3.9 GPA. According to his family and friends, Matheson had no history of major medical problems or illness.

“Matheson’s mother reports that doctors were baffled by the quick onset of symptoms. While his family wants it noted that their son received prompt care and they’re confident the team at Kansas Medical did all they could, given the circumstances, they are hoping an autopsy will shine some light on the details of the illness. At this time medical experts assure us the condition does not appear to be contagious and is most likely an isolated incident.“

"I take back everything I said,” Dean grumbled. “This doesn’t sound like our kind of thing at all.”

“Shh…. Let him finish,” you prompted.

Dean rolled his eyes but didn’t object further 

Sam cleared his throat and continued. “Sheriff Jones assured us he’s opened up a formal investigation to rule out foul play and that they are waiting on the results of the autopsy to narrow down the cause of death. While the cause of Matheson’s illness remains a mystery, one of his fellow students - who will not be named - claims that her friend was acting strangely before he fell ill. 

“'Curt was rambling about spirits,’ our source stated. ‘Like he thought a spirit of some kind was trying to manipulate him. And he’d been having nightmares about scorpions and snakes and insects. None of us knew what to think about it. It wasn’t like him to act paranoid. He wasn’t scared of much of anything, but he was really freaking out for a couple of days. Then he started having chest and stomach pains and ended up at the hospital.'” Sam paused and looked up from his phone to glance at you and Dean in turn.

"Okay, okay, so the kid pulled a Haley Joel Osmond,” Dean replied. “Could have been hallucinating from whatever made him sick. Maybe he got into some bad shrooms.”

“He thought he was being manipulated by a spirit,” you asserted. “That’s more than just claiming you saw a ghost.”

“Look,” Sam added. “If there’s a ghost manipulating people, that’s enough reason to pursue this, even if it’s not what killed Curt in the end.”

“He claimed he was being manipulated,” you said slowly, swallowing a bite of licorice. “Could even be a demon.”

Dean’s fingers lightly tapped the steering wheel in time with the music on the radio, but you didn’t miss the way one eyebrow went up at your observation. He took a deep breath and then cleared his throat. 

“All right, all right. Wichita it is. But if there isn’t some M. Night Shyamalan-level shit going down, we’re outta there.” He reached out a hand over his shoulder and added, “Pass the licorice, sweetheart.”


	2. Chapter 2

You sat at the small table in the motel room you and Dean were sharing while Dean adjusted his tie. You had the laptop open in front of you, scrolling through Curtis Matheson’s high school’s website. 

“See anything useful?” Dean asked.

“Actually, yeah….”

There was a knock on the motel door and Dean opened it to let Sam inside. He was dressed in his FBI garb, too, after having changed in his own room.

“So there’s a candlelight vigil in Curtis’s memory tonight on the football field at his school at sundown,” you told them both.

“It’s as good a place as any to gather information,” Sam suggested.

“Read my mind, Brawny,” you told him, picking up your shoes and slipping them on. You checked the magazine in your pistol and tucked it into your shoulder holster where your charcoal blazer hid it from view.

“If we hurry we can stop off at the Sheriff’s office on our way,” Dean said.

  


“You know, see what the local law enforcement have already figured out. Might save us some groundwork.”

The Sedgwick County Sheriff’s office looked about as busy as you’d expect in the early evening hours. 

  


The three of you flashed your badges, took a seat in the lobby - or rather, you and Sam took a seat while Dean retrieved a snack from the nearby vending machine - and waited for the Deputy to see if the Sheriff was available to speak with. You didn’t wait long, however, just long enough for Dean to get two bites deep into his candy bar before the Deputy was calling you back.

“I’m sorry to say we don’t have a lot to go on yet,” Sheriff Jones said as he opened the door to his office and let you all step inside. He went around to sit at his desk. He was middle-aged with a light dusting of silver in his otherwise dark hair, and crow’s feet lightly etched into the corners of his eyes.

“Still waiting on the autopsy?” Dean offered.

“That,” the Sheriff agreed, “and the fact that it’s hard to know if this is more than just a case of someone coming down with a rare illness.”

“Are you aware that Curtis Matheson was claiming he was being manipulated by a spirit before he died?” Sam asked.

The Sheriff took a deep breath and let it out slowly with a heavy sigh. Now that you were looking closer, it seemed he probably hadn’t gotten sufficicient sleep the night before, assuming he didn’t always have circles under his eyes. 

“I don’t really know how that’s relevant,” he stated. Then he looked at each of you in turn, leaning back in his chair, arms crossing over his chest. “That is, unless the FBI knows something about what’s happening that I don’t know. Please. Enlighten me.”

  


“Lots of theories,” Dean said casually, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. “Nothing concrete. Like you said, not much to go on yet.”

Sheriff Jones shook his head slowly. “It’s a damn shame, young kid going before his time like that, but sometimes people just get sick. Maybe that’s all this is.”

“Might be,” Sam agreed, shrugging. “Might not.”

“Did the parents request the autopsy?” you asked.

“Officially, yes,” he said. “But I’ve been in touch with the doctors at the hospital and they were the ones encouraging Mr. and Mrs. Matheson to move forward with it. To be honest, I don’t think anyone knows what to hope for.”

“What do you mean by that?” Dean pressed.

“Well, on one hand you’ve got a kid who just got sick suddenly and wound up dead. A kid who was otherwise healthy and active. And doctors couldn’t figure out what was wrong, let alone stop the progression of it in time to save him. And while we don’t have any reason to believe it’s contagious, we really don’t know what ‘it’ is, do we?” He sighed heavily, intertwining his fingers on his desk in front of him. “On the other hand, you’ve got the possibility of foul play. The thought of someone intentionally doing something to this young kid that made him sick enough to kill him…. I just - I don’t like our options.”

  


“Do you have an ETA on that report from the Medical Examiner?” you asked.

“He’s thorough, but efficient.” He glanced at the clock on the wall and added, “I was hoping for it tonight, but I’d wager tomorrow evening at the latest.”

You nodded. “Any chance you could put in for a warrant for Curtis’s medical records?”

“Already working on it. Hospital can’t tell us much without one. Damn privacy laws make it hard to help people when things like this happen.”

“Things like this happen often around here?” you asked as an afterthought.

“You know what I mean,” Sheriff Jones said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “You’re a doctor. It must make it hard to consult and everything. I know the laws are necessary, just makes policing twice as complicated. Makes me miss the good old days is all.”

You gave him an understanding smile as Dean muttered, “Damn straight,” earning a raised eyebrow from the Sheriff that he chose to ignore.

“We’re on our way to the candlelight vigil,” you added, changing the subject.

Sheriff Jones nodded, clasping his hands in front of him on his desk. “I’ve got a couple a couple of deputies attending. I don’t expect anything too exciting will go down at the school tonight, but they’ll be there just in case.”

“We’ll check in tomorrow then,” Sam told him, dropping his card on the Sheriff’s desk. “Call if we can do anything to help in the meantime.”

“I appreciate the help,” the Sheriff answered.

A large crowd had gathered in the center of the football field and a riser had been set up with a podium at the front. The school’s principal was already in the middle of his speech when you arrived.

A woman holding a basket of tea-light candles noticed your empty hands and offered one to each of you. You thanked her in hushed tones and accepted the candles, holding them in somber silence like the rest of the crowd while the principal spoke about Curtis’s great potential, and what an example he had been to the rest of his teammates and fellow student body.

The principal gestured several times toward Curtis’s family - the couple who were obviously Curtis’s parents who stood in the front row and looked like they were doing everything in their power to be strong for everyone else. You were no stranger to grief, and your heart went out to them.

“Either the kid was Oscar material, or he wasn’t messing around with anything demonic,” Dean said under his breath.

You had to agree with him. The chances of this being a demon-related incident were less and less likely the more you heard. But that was only one possibility on a long list of nightmarish things that could be responsible for Curtis’s untimely death.

  


A hysterical cry came from somewhere in the center of the crowd, and the principal didn’t miss a beat as a group of young girls helped guide a fellow student away from the crowd and toward the bleachers while she sobbed uncontrollably.

“Poor thing,” you whispered. 

“They’re just kids,” Sam agreed. “Whatever happened, I just don’t want to see it happen again.”

“Just gotta find out if it’s something we can prevent,” Dean added quietly.

After the principal’s speech, the football coach - flanked by a couple members of the team - spoke next. The crowd dispersed after an hour and everyone went their way. You and Sam and Dean found yourselves at the closest fast food joint for a bite to eat.

  


“You still think this is our kind of thing?” Dean asked before taking a sip of his shake.

Sam met his gaze and sighed, leaning back in the booth. “Honestly? I just don’t know. Not yet anyway.”

“It’s too soon to tell,” you agreed. “We’ll know more when the autopsy comes back.”

  


You hadn’t lingered at the burger joint - leaving as soon as you’d all finished your meals and heading straight for the motel. Sam cracked a smart-ass remark about “getting it out of your system, please and thank you,” as he headed off in the direction of his own room.

“It’s been too long since I kicked that boy’s ass,” Dean said halfheartedly as he unlocked the door and held it open for you.

You smiled, shaking your head at him as he followed you inside. You opted to wait for morning to shower and wash your hair, letting Dean take the bathroom. You were waiting in the covers, lost in deep thought when he emerged in a t-shirt and sweats.

“You okay, sweetheart?” Dean asked as he made his way over to the bed.

“Hmm? Yeah…. I just can’t stop thinking about that poor girl tonight who couldn’t stop crying. She and Curt must have been close.”

He nodded, coming to sit next to you on the bed. “It’s a damn shame,” he agreed. 

You leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips and breathing in the scent of the motel soap on his skin. 

Dean wrapped his arm around your waist, brushing a strand of hair out of your eyes and gazing at you for the span of a few heartbeats. And then, because he always seemed to anticipate your needs, he slid beneath the blankets next to you and patted the space on the mattress at his side for you to join him. You did as he asked and he pulled you up against his chest.

“Makes you stop and think, doesn’t it? About how lucky we are?” he added.

You nodded. “Yeah. It does.”

You didn’t often take your life with Dean and Sam for granted. You knew all too well how quickly a curve ball could send you reeling - how life could change in an instant. Something about that vigil tonight had caused your heart to swell and ache with loss and love and gratitude all at once. 

You couldn’t have put it all into words if you’d tried. Dean didn’t ask you to. 

His fingers swept beneath your chin, gently raising it until your eyes met his. “Hey now,” he said softly. “We’re going to help figure out what went down,” he promised. “And if this is something dark and twisty, we’re sure as hell going to stop it from happening to anyone else.”

“Okay,” you told him with a small smile. He pressed a kiss to your forehead and you found yourself matching your breathing to his.

  


Instead of enjoying your private motel room in the way Sam would assume you were doing, you simply enjoyed the peace and safety of your husband’s arms as he held you through the night.


	3. Chapter 3

After donning business attire fitting of FBI agents, you and Dean decided to get an early start on your day. Dean went on a breakfast run and you made your way down to Sam’s motel room, knocking on the door before he opened it to let you inside.

“Where’s Dean?” he asked, seeing that you were alone.

“Probably buying bad gas station coffee and a bunch of processed sugar,” you answered, sitting down on the edge of Sam’s bed. 

“Hunter’s breakfast galore,” Sam said with a chuckle.

You smiled at him as he finished buttoning up his white shirt. “He should be back any minute.”

Sam sat down on the edge of the bed next to you, bumping your knee with a fist lightly. “You know,” he began. “I know we don’t have anything solid yet to go on with this, and I can’t really explain it,” he continued. “I just have this feeling-”

“There’s something here we need to stick around for?” you offered.

Sam’s mouth turned up on one side, a grateful smile at not having to explain something he didn’t have words for.

“Me too,” you added. “We’ve just got to get to the bottom of it.”

Dean showed up a few minutes later with hot hot breakfast burritos and gas station coffee that actually wasn’t half bad. 

Curtis Matheson’s parents were surprisingly warm and welcoming when you knocked on their door after breakfast.

“You were at the vigil last night, weren’t you?” Mrs. Matheson said with a smile.

You nodded while Dean said, “Wanted to pay our respects.”

“That’s kind of you,” she added, gesturing for you to come in and sit down.

You spent a few minutes sharing your condolences for their loss after they invited you inside and Mr. Matheson introduced himself and offered to make an Espresso in the machine. You’d politely accepted his offer on behalf of the three of you and he set off for the kitchen.

Mrs. Matheson spoke about Curtis’s athletic achievements, and shed a few tears as she listed some of the hopes and dreams they’d had for his future that would never be realized.

Mr. Matheson returned shortly with an Espresso in a small mug for each of you.

“Is this his girlfriend?” Dean asked, getting to his feet and taking his Espresso with him as he approached the fireplace where a photo of Curtis and a girl was framed on the mantle. It looked like a school dance photo, and now that you were looking, you recognized the girl in the picture as the one who had been in hysterics the night before at the vigil.

Mr. Matheson nodded. “Her name is Megan. They dated for almost a year. They were making plans to attend the same college.”

No wonder the poor girl had been so heartbroken last night.

“I know it’s hard to talk about, but did Curt act differently in the days before the illness set in?” Sam asked.

“He had an AP Chemistry test he was studying for,” Mrs. Matheson began. “I guess I just assumed that was the reason for the added stress he was under. Once he got sick I realized it may have been an early symptom that I just didn’t recognize. Of course by then it was … ” Her voice trailed off and her husband patted her shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“Can you tell me about the other symptoms Curt exhibited before you took him to the hospital?” you asked. “How did the sickness first present?”

“He was nauseated,” Mr. Matheson explained. “We wondered if he was coming down with a touch of the flu, or if maybe something he’d eaten was bothering him. I phoned the family doctor and he called in some Tamiflu, but that didn’t do anything for him.”

“I would have taken him to the hospital sooner,” Mrs. Matheson added. “I - I should have…. He just was so worried about going that I figured we’d give the Tamiflu more time to work.”

“He was scared to go to the hospital?” Dean asked.

“He must have been,” Mrs. Matheson answered. “He became very nervous and started telling me that he was scared. What else could it have been? We still thought he had food poisoning or a stubborn strain of the flu at that point. He was young and healthy otherwise, I never imagined something like … “ Her voice trailed off and you felt your heart break a little for her. 

You’d buried every member of your biological family, and you still couldn’t imagine the grief that would come from burying a child.

“You did everything you could for Curtis,” you assured her. “You couldn’t have known it wasn’t food poisoning.” You exchanged glances with Dean then before asking your next question. “Apparently a friend of Curt’s is claiming he was talking about scorpions and snakes. Do you recall him mentioning anything of that sort?”

“I think he may have said something about some kind of insect or creepy-crawly thing,” Mrs. Matheson said with a slow nod. She took a deep breath and sighed, looking you in the eye while she added, “To be honest he was sort of rambling before we got him to the hospital and he wasn’t making much sense. I was so focused on getting him help, and I couldn’t make out everything he was saying, much less remember it.”

“That’s understandable,” Sam assured her.

“This is going to sound like a strange question,” you pressed, setting down your empty Espresso cup on the coffee table. “Has anyone close to the family passed away recently? Maybe a relative? A neighbor? Anyone Curtis might have known?”

“What do you mean by recent?” Mr. Matheson asked.

“Say the last six months or so,” Dean clarified.

Mr. and Mrs. Matheson were both shaking their heads no, glancing at each other to confirm. 

“My father passed away two years ago,” Mr. Matheson said slowly as an afterthought. “And he and Curtis weren’t that close. He lived in California. We didn’t get back there to visit him often.”

“There hasn’t been anyone else,” Mrs. Matheson added. “And Curtis hadn’t mentioned anything like that happening with anyone from school. We’d have heard.”

You gave her a sad smile and nodded. “Of course.”

Mrs. Matheson’s phone rang and she glanced at the screen, saying, “It’s the funeral home calling me back about printing the programs. The service is in two days.”

“Well, we won’t take any more of your time,” Dean said, getting to his feet.

“Thanks for speaking with us,” Sam added, pulling out his wallet and offering Mr. Matheson his FBI card.

“If you think of anything that might be useful while we try to get to the bottom of what happened to Curt, please just give us a call,” you told them.

Mrs. Matheson promised she would before stepping into the next room to take the call as Mr. Matheson showed you to the door.

You climbed into Baby’s backseat, chewing your bottom lip as you considered everything Curtis’s parents had told you.

"You thinking ghost sickness?” Dean asked, locking eyes with you through the rear view mirror.

He’d caught on to your line of questioning. You weren’t surprised. Of the three of you, Dean was the only one who had experienced ghost sickness firsthand. You had wondered about the possibility as Curt’s parents spoke about his recent behavior, and knowing Dean was thinking along the same lines made Ghost Sickness seem all the more likely.

“He was apparently scared,” you answered. “I’d have to know more about his physical condition when he was admitted, but - in terms of a differential diagnosis - it’s not a bad place to start.“ Dean’s smirk then had you narrowing your eyes at him. “What? What did I say?”

“Differential diagnosis,” he repeated, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I just love it when you let a little Doctor-mode slip out. That’s all.”

“Gross,” Sam muttered. “Save it for the bedroom, will ya? I got two motel rooms for a reason.”

You were the one biting back a smile now as Dean threw a sexy wink at you through the rear view mirror that made your cheeks feel warm with the promise of it.


	4. Chapter 4

You were just finishing up lunch at a little cafe when Sam’s phone rang with a call from Sheriff Jones to inform you that the Medical Examiner’s report had come in.

Dean dropped enough cash on the table to cover the meal and a good tip, waving a thank you to the middle-aged woman who had been waiting on your table as she called out for you all to have a good day.

You were anxious to get your hands on that report during the drive over to the police station. You waved your badges at the deputy at the front desk, grateful he seemed to recognize you from the afternoon before.

“The Sheriff is expecting us,” Dean told him.

“Head on back,” he said, gesturing for you to turn the corner that led to the Sheriff’s office.

Sheriff Jones was gazing at a small stack of papers on his desk when Sam softly rapped his knuckles on the open door. “Sheriff. Do you mind if we-”

“Come on in,” he urged, waving you forward with a hand. “Maybe one of you can make sense of this, ‘cause I sure as hell can’t wrap my head around it.”

“Official cause of death?” you asked, accepting the Medical Examiner’s report when the Sheriff held it out to you. You quickly scanned the top of the page, reading it aloud when you found it. “Envenoming.”

Dean frowned, shifting his weight. “Like a snake?”

“Snake venom is a toxic blend of proteins and enzymes and other things that are meant to debilitate and immobilize prey,” you thought out loud. “The venom disrupts nerve impulses and destroys cells until paralysis occurs. If not treated, it can lead to internal bleeding and eventually death.”

“Well, I mean I guess it could make sense,” Dean mused. “The sickness came on rather suddenly when it hit, and if the doctors didn’t know what they were dealing with … ”

You knew what he was thinking. If this was really death by snakebite, this wasn’t your kind of thing at all. 

But the Sheriff was shaking his head. “Keep reading. There’s more.”

You continued to scan the report, feeling Dean and Sam’s eyes on you as they waited in suspense for your summary.  
  


“The M.E. couldn’t find a single bite mark on the body,” you continued.

“What then? He somehow ingested the venom?” the Sheriff asked, joining the debate.

“Not likely,” Sam countered. “Snake venom has to enter the bloodstream directly to cause the kind of damage Curt’s organs suffered.”

Dean visibly shuddered. “First of all,” he said to his brother. “Weird that you know that.”

Sam ignored Dean’s thinly veiled jab, continuing. “Stomach acids break the venom down. That’s why snakes can eat whatever they’ve killed with their venom without being harmed themselves.”

Dean still looked creeped out by the snake talk, muttering, “Skeevy bastards.”

“It would have to be injected, if not through a bite, then with a needle,” you agreed.

Dean’s snort was less amusement and more disbelief as he turned back to the Sheriff. “You guys have a tribe of aborigines with some kind of crazy ass poison-dart hazing we should know about?”

But the Sheriff just sighed, shaking his head in bewilderment. “More questions than answers here, I’m afraid.”

Dean couldn’t help but notice you worrying over your lip as you gazed, unfocused, at the back wall. “You’ve got that faraway look, Doc,” he said, prompting you to look over at him. “Come on. Lay it on us.”

“It’s just that we so often start with a dead body, and some days this reverse engineering medicine in my head is harder than others. I just … I wish I could have examined Curtis when he was, well, alive.”

The lines around Dean’s eyes softened as he watched you then, and you got a distinct sense that he was resisting the urge to cross the room to be nearer to you.

The Sheriff’s phone rang, cutting through the silence. He raised it to his ear and listened briefly, worry lines cutting across his brow at whatever he was hearing on the other end.

“Parents are going to flood the station with calls when word gets out,” he said into the receiver. “Probably have a few of them show up here demanding answers…. Any chance the kid has been bitten by a snake? Yeah, well, Feds are here with me now. I’ll let them converse with the CDC if needs be. Oh, and there’s a doctor consulting with them on the case. Mind if I send her over to … all right, then. Keep me posted.”

Along with Sam and Dean, you’d waited with bated breath for the Sheriff to get off the phone and confirm what you suspected to be true. He removed his hat and combed his fingers through his thinning hair, sighing with the impossible weight of overwhelming responsibility you knew all too well. 

“Someone else is sick?” Sam prompted, giving voice to the question hanging in the air.

“Another student,” the Sheriff admitted. He clasped his hands together on his desk, turning his gaze on you. “That was the Chief of Emergency Medicine at Kansas Med. She’s going to double check, but the admitting doctor didn’t notice a snakebite. I think she’d appreciate the back up if you’re willing, Doctor.”

You nodded. “Of course.”

“Here. You’ll want this.” The Sheriff pulled an envelope out of his top drawer and offered it to Dean who stood closest to him. “Warrant came back for Curtis Matheson’s medical records. Had them faxed over about an hour ago.”

You read over the medical records on the way to the hospital, noting the symptoms he presented with and the results of the tests that were done before his death. From what you could tell, the doctors at Kansas Medical had done their best to diagnose and treat Curt, given the circumstance and the quick progression of his illness. You did your best to summarize the relevant information for Sam and Dean during the drive to ensure you were all on the same page. 

When you reached the hospital, Sam went with you to meet the Chief, Dr. Richards, while Dean went in search of the student’s family who had brought him in. 

Dr. Richards did indeed seem to be relieved at the prospect of your helping out on a locum basis. She gave you a quick rundown of what she knew about 18-year-old Kenny Barnes as she escorted you to credentialing to get your temporary privileges sorted out. 

While you worked with a gruff but efficient middle-aged man in credentialing to fill out all of the necessary paperwork, Sam went back out to the car to retrieve your things. 

It was nearly four in the afternoon when you were handed your temporary hospital ID badge. You changed in the locker room, putting on your embroidered white lab coat and attaching your new temporary ID badge to the pocket. You made sure you had your penlight, and fumbled around in the bottom of the bag Sam had brought you, only then realizing Sam had thrown in a cheap grey stethoscope that looked more like a prop than a useful diagnostic tool. 

Sam was waiting patiently out in the hall, leaning against the wall casually and watching as you approached.

“What is this?” you said as you held it out grudgingly.

He blinked at you, straightening. “Um, a stethoscope?”

You rolled your eyes. “Pffft…. Hardly. Where’s mine?”

“No idea,” he said, shifting on his feet a little as he glanced toward the hall in search of Dean who was supposed to be meeting you. “I didn’t see yours in the bag, or in the med kit.”

And that’s when you remembered you’d tossed it in your bag when you’d left the bunker, which meant it was still back at the motel. “I don’t know how you ever passed as a doctor with this.”

Sam gave you an amused smile, shaking his head. “Maybe because I don’t actually use it.”

“Yeah, well, I’d like to have one that’s at least functional if I’m going to have a snowball’s chance in hell at figuring out what’s going on around here.” Sam humored you as you put in the earpieces and raised the bell to his chest, tucking it just inside his open suit jacket to rest over his heart for a test run. “Bad news … you might be dead.” You heard Sam’s chuckle then, but with no help from the stethoscope. He tucked his hands in his pants pockets when you stepped back and lowered the bell again to stare at it with disdain. You tapped it with a finger, frowning up at him. “Seriously, Sam. I can’t hear crap out of this.”

“It’s not you, it’s me,” he deadpanned like a perfectly adorable little asshole as Dean approached.

“Kid’s back from his scan,” Dean announced. “No parents with him. They’re on a Mediterranean cruise - hospital is still trying to get them on the phone - but his girlfriend came in on the ambulance with him. I haven’t spoken to her yet. What do you say we head on upstairs so you can take a look at him and we’ll see what the girlfriend knows.”

You made your way to the elevator and waited for the nurse and a young couple to step out before going inside. Dean hit the button for the next floor and the doors closed.

You slung the cheap grey stethoscope around your neck and said to no one in particular, “Did you get this thing at a Halloween store? Did it come with a sexy nurse outfit?” Dean turned his head to look at you, a glint of mischief sparkling in his green eyes. “And before you even ask, Winchester, I don’t care if the outfit is still around somewhere, I’m not wearing it.”

Dean licked his lips as he considered you, but apparently wasn’t discouraged. He elbowed Sam, muttering, “Not in front of you, anyway.”

Dean was saved from more than a bitch face from Sam as the elevator doors dinged and opened. You bit back a laugh as you stepped out ahead of the two of them and followed the signs, taking a left toward the nurse’s station.

You approached the desk with a smile, offering your new ID badge to the nurse for inspection. You introduced yourself and Sam and Dean by their FBI aliases, Agents Moore and Ranaldo.

“I’m helping out on a locum basis,” you added.

“The Chief called up to let me know you were coming,” she answered, handing you back your badge.

She took a quick glance at Sam and Dean’s badges as well, and you thought you saw her brush her finger along Dean’s hand as she returned his to him. “When she mentioned there were FBI agents investigating, I, uh, I didn’t exactly picture the likes of you two.”

Dean’s charming half-smile in response caused her to lose herself, but only briefly. “My name is Kara,” she recovered. “My shift is just starting and I was just about to relieve the other nurse. I’ll take you all to Kenny’s room.”

“That would be perfect. Thanks. Oh,” you added on second thought. “Do you happen to have a decent stethoscope I could borrow? Mine’s not working.”

“Uh, sure….” She fumbled around in several drawers before pulling out a blue MDF model and passing it to you over the desk. “Promise it works,” she added. “It’s my spare.”

“Thank you,” you told her kindly as she led the way down the hall. You held the grey stethoscope over your shoulder for Sam to take back and happily slung the MDF around your neck, finally feeling equipped to tackle the case.


	5. Chapter 5

Kara, the nurse who was just beginning her shift and had been assigned to Kenny, escorted you and Dean and Sam to Kenny’s hospital room and introduced you to the nurse she was replacing, as well as Kenny’s girlfriend Leah. **  
**

You moved forward, picking up the tablet with Kenny’s chart and listening intently as the other nurse, Lindsey, filled you in on what medications Kenny was being given and how his condition had progressed. Lindsey had been by his side since he’d been admitted, and had escorted him down to imaging and back and drawn the blood for the labs that had been ordered by the admitting doc.

Kenny seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. At first glance you noted he had a nasal cannula carrying oxygen directly to his nose, a blood pressure cuff around his arm, and a pulse ox clip on one finger. Electrodes attached to his chest and abdomen, evidenced by the wires diving beneath the neck of his hospital gown, were tracking the rate and rhythm of his heart, which was elevated at best.

“Kenny,” you said as you gently gripped his hand in yours. “Kenny can you hear me?” His eyelashes fluttered, but it was difficult to know if it was in response to hearing his name.

“Was he responding when he was brought in?” you asked.

“Minimally,” Lindsey answered. You thanked Lindsey and she made her way out of the room as Kara stepped up to check Kenny’s IV bag.

You turned to see Dean hanging back by the door, looking a little startled. 

He was glancing on and off in the direction of Kenny’s girlfriend, Leah. His guarded body language was enough to make you follow his gaze.

“How long has he been showing symptoms?” you directing the question to Leah.

She looked up at you, frowning and shaking her head. “I - I don’t know exactly. I found him like this when I went over to his house. He wasn’t answering the door even though his car was in the drive. I let myself in and found him lying on his bed like this, mumbling something about fangs and stingers. That’s when I called the ambulance.”

“Does he have any allergies that you’re aware of?” you asked. 

“No…. I don’t think so.”

“Does he have a pet snake?” Sam asked, adding to your line of questioning..

“He doesn’t have any pets,” Leah answered. 

“What about friends or siblings? Could he have come into contact with anyone else’s pet snake?”

“Was he bitten by a snake?” Leah asked, her voice betraying a new, simpler tone of fear.

“Just covering our bases,” Sam assured her. “We have to rule out the obvious things first.”

You used a pen light to check Kenny’s eyes. His pupils were enlarged and sluggish to respond.

“You’re Feds,” Leah stated, looking at Dean and Sam. “Does that mean you think he has whatever Curt had?”

Dean stared at Leah through narrowed eyes. He stood with his arms folded, and while you could tell his mind was obviously going a mile a minute, you couldn’t read the expression on his face at all. 

He shook his head a little and cleared his throat breaking his silence and answering honestly. “It’s really too early to know.”

Leah’s hand went to her mouth as she fought back tears. 

“Were he and Curt close?” Dean asked, studying Leah while she tried to collect herself.

“We all are - were close,” she said with a sniffle. “God…. I’m going to end up just like Megan. She’s gone bat-shit since Curt died. She spends all of her time at the Butterfly House now and won’t talk to anyone. Kenny can’t … ” She was sounding more and more frantic as she spoke. “He can’t die. You can’t let him-” 

Dean looked visibly shaken by Leah’s crying, which was odd enough, but as he reached out to touch her shoulder in a gesture of support, Leah instead turned into his arms, leaning against him and crying into his jacket.

“Hey now,” Dean said softly, patting her back with a hand. “It’s okay.” Dean made no attempt to remove her from him, instead allowing her to cry for a moment while you and Sam looked on. It was a moment before Leah straightened and took a step back. “I know you’re scared,” Dean told her, offering her a handkerchief from his coat pocket, “and this is all a little overwhelming.” He gestured at you and Sam and added, “My partners and I are really good at figuring out these types of mysteries. Give us a chance to see if we can’t get to the bottom of what’s making him sick, but in the meantime Kenny’s going to need you to be strong for him, okay?”

Leah nodded, taking a shaky breath. You noticed Dean didn’t take his eyes off her as she turned to gaze at Kenny again.

“Kara,” you said, putting on the loaner stethoscope she’d lent you. “Can you check that both the lab and radiology know we need those results expedited and let me know as soon as they come back?”

“Absolutely.” Kara ducked out of the room to do as you’d asked.

You lowered Kenny’s gown to his waist and listened to his heart and lungs. You locked eyes with Sam as you listened, and he realized without prompting that you’d need to thoroughly examine Kenny for any evidence of a snake bite.

“Leah,” Sam said. “Could we step out for just a moment to talk while the doctor looks Kenny over?”

Leah reluctantly tore her eyes away from her boyfriend and let Sam and Dean escort her into the hallway.

For Kenny’s sake, you hoped to find a little set of puncture marks from a snake as you examined him, knowing that a snakebite may just be an easier thing to cure than anything sinister that would mean you and Sam and Dean needed to stick around.

You were thorough in your exam. Kenny was the second student from Valor Hall to have fallen seriously ill in the span of a few days, and the first hadn’t lived to talk about it. 

When you finished, Sam and Dean led Leah back inside his hospital room and she immediately went to Kenny’s bedside and took his hand in hers, whispering to him that she was still trying to reach his parents by phone, but that she was going to be staying here with him.

“Any bite marks?” Dean asked you in hushed tones.

“Nada.”

“What about needle pricks?” Sam added.

“None that I could see,” you answered. “He’s getting progressively worse. He has a rapid heart rate, shortness of breath, and I’m sure there’s some involuntary muscle movement. And he doesn’t have a fever, but he’s lethargic and minimally responsive.” 

“It’s too bad,” Sam muttered. “I’d give anything to talk to him.”

“I’m not sure he’d make much sense even if you could. I think whatever’s doing this to him is making him delirious,” you added. “I mean, Leah says he was going on about stingers and fangs….”

“I saw you checking his eyes before we stepped out,” Dean added. “You didn’t seem surprised that his pupils are blown wide.”

“It sometimes happens with envenoming. Just wish I knew if that’s what we’re dealing with.”

Dean frowned. “If it’s not?”

“At this point, let’s hope it is. Any neurological causes for his pupils to dilate and not react to light would be worse news.”

“Is it an option to give him the antivenom now just in case?” Sam asked. “You know, let it start working?”

“The antivenom comes with it’s own risks and side effects. If we’re dealing with something else entirely, it could actually make him worse.”

Kara returned then and brought a folder over to you that contained the radiologist’s read on the MRIs. The report was unremarkable, with no obvious answers as to what could be causing Kenny to go downhill so quickly.

“Labs?” you asked when you didn’t see the results in the folder.

“The lab is having problems because of the software update they ran last night,” she answered. “There are glitches, apparently.”

“Do they have an ETA on a fix?” you asked. 

“I.T. is on it, but it could be another hour - maybe more- before they’re caught back up.” Kara gave you an apologetic smile and then approached Kenny’s bedside to change his IV bag.

“We can’t wait that long.” You sighed in frustration, looking between Dean and Sam. “I know there’s no evidence of bite marks, but a needle prick is harder to spot, especially in this lighting. All the signs and symptoms still point to envenoming.”

“Hey,” Dean said softly, prompting you to meet his gaze. “You’ve got this. You don’t always have access to a lab. Say this was me or Sam back at the bunker…. What would you do then?”

You bit your lip and glanced at Kenny’s monitor. At the way his blood pressure was gradually but steadily falling. Then it hit you…. He was right. There was a way to check for coagulopathy without a lab. “Winchester, you are a genius.”

Dean gave you a smug smile and you only just resisted the urge to plant one on him.

“Kara,” you said. “I need your help drawing blood for a Whole Blood Clotting Test.”

“Sure thing. What do you need?”

“A couple of syringes to draw, alcohol swabs to disinfect, two glass vials, and a volunteer for comparison.”

Kara immediately looked at Dean, no doubt hoping he’d offer up a vein, but Dean’s eyes were locked on Leah again as she stood at Kenny’s bedside.

Sam didn’t hesitate to volunteer, and Kara’s short-lived disappointment quickly dissipated as she watched Sam remove his jacket and begin rolling up a shirt sleeve.

“Agent Ranaldo,” you called, drawing Sam’s attention to you. “Have you taken anything that might thin your blood in the last week? Ibuprofen? Aspirin? Fish oil?” Sam shook his head no and held out his arm for Kara to disinfect the inside of his elbow. 

“A few CCs should be enough,” you told her as she handed you the supplies you needed and you set to work doing the same with Kenny. Leah stood across from you, averting her eyes as you slipped the needle into Kenny’s vein and slowly pulled back on the plunger, collecting a small sample.

Once you had your blood samples both from Kenny and Sam, you used a Sharpie to label the glass tubes to identify them. Then you transferred the blood from the syringes into their respective tubes and sealed them, propping them up to rest vertically between two small boxes on the counter.

“Set a timer for twenty minutes,” you told Dean, earning a nod as he pulled his phone from his pocket to do as you’d asked.

You sent Kara to check that there was antivenom available in the hospital supply room and asked her to bring up a dose just in case.

“Now what?” Leah asked as you put your stethoscope back on.

“Now, we wait.” You listened to Kenny’s lungs again, unhappy with his pulse ox levels. Kara wasn’t back yet, but it was becoming obvious the nasal cannula wasn’t adequately supplying oxygen for him. You rummaged through a cupboard, and Dean jumped in to help.

“What do you need?”

“A non-rebreather mask,” you told him, directing him with a wave of your hand toward the higher cupboards closer to him.

You searched two drawers and came up empty-handed, but Dean’s, “Wait, this thing?” prompted you to look up and find him holding the mask you needed.

“Exactly that. Thanks.” You attached it to the flow of oxygen and placed the mask over Kenny’s mouth and nose.

“Are his lungs okay?” Leah asked.

“They’re not functioning as well as I would like,” you answered honestly. “And his heartbeat is slightly irregular.”

“Can - can you do something?”

“I increased his oxygen, but we’ll know more after the blot clotting test,” you assured her. She nodded and intertwined her fingers with Kenny’s. “I’m going to step out into the hall for a moment,” you told her. “I’ll be close by if you need me.”

“Yeah, okay.” Leah pulled the closest chair toward Kenny’s bedside to be nearer to him as Dean held the door open for you to step outside.

“Is everything okay?” you asked Dean as you passed.

“What? Yeah…. Why?” he said, shrugging like he hadn’t been acting weird. You frowned at him but didn’t press the issue.

“So, what do we think?” Sam asked once the door was closed again.

“Envenoming or not, I think we can rule out ghost sickness.“ Dean said.

Sam ran his hand through his hair, nodding. “There’s been no mention of ghosts in regards to Kenny. Curtis claimed to have been manipulated by a spirit, but Leah hasn’t heard anything like that from Kenny.”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah, well, the kid’s unconscious. Hard to get scared to death when you’re off in la-la-land.”

You saw Dr. Richards approaching and took a step back to make room for her in your little circle. “Dr. Richards,” you said in greeting. “I’d like to introduce you to Agents Moore and Ranaldo.” You nodded to Dean and Sam in turn as the Chief greeted them each with a firm handshake.

“Any luck contacting Kenny’s parents?” you asked her.

She shook her head regretfully. “Not for lack of trying. We’ll keep at it. Are we any closer to solving the mystery?”

“The lab is having trouble getting our results back to us,” you informed her. “We’re checking for envenoming with a Whole Blood Clotting Test. I should know here in the next … ”

“7 minutes,” Dean answered for you, checking the timer on his phone’s screen.

“Envenoming?” Dr. Richards asked, brow furrowing. “My god, do you really think-”

“The medical examiner ruled envenoming as the official cause of death for Curtis,” you elaborated.

“How - how did we miss that?” she said slowly, and you recognized the heavy weight that seemed to settle on her shoulders at the realization.

“There were no distinguishable bite marks on his body,” you added. “And the symptoms - multi-system organ failure, arrhythmia, pulmonary distress - those can be caused by any number of things. It wasn’t an obvious call, by any means.”

“I appreciate your giving us the benefit of the doubt,” she said. “But the truth is one boy is dead, and another is sick. I pray to God it is envenoming. At least we have an antidote for that.” You nodded in agreement. Dr. Richards gazed long and hard at Dean and Sam then, frowning. “But if this is just a case of snake poison, why is the Bureau involved?”

“Like the doctor said,” Dean began. “No obvious bite marks on the body. And since snake poison can’t be ingested and still cause that kind of damage -”

“You think someone is injecting people with venom?” Dr. Richards said slowly.

“We’re here to find them and stop them,” Sam added.


	6. Chapter 6

You held a glass vial in each hand, one containing Kenny’s blood and one containing Sam’s. When Dean’s phone alarm went off, signifying the twenty minutes had passed, you carefully inverted each vial. 

The absence of any clotting in Kenny’s vial when compared to Sam’s confirmed your suspicions and diagnosis.

“Kara, administer the antivenom and call Chief Richards to let her know the hospital should check they have an adequate supply on hand if anyone else presents with envenoming.”

Kara set to work doing as you’d instructed while Leah began hysterically rambling in response to the news.

“H - how did he get snake poison in him?” she demanded. “How did he - there’s no - he hasn’t been around any snakes!”

“Leah, listen to me,” you said, resting a hand on her shoulder and turning her to face you. “Now that we know what’s making him sick, we’re going to give him the antidote to the poison and that should stop the progression in its tracks.”

She nodded, her bottom lip trembling as tears spilled down her cheeks. She watched as Kara added the antivenom to Kenny’s IV port. “When will he wake up?”

“We’ll be infusing the antivenom into his IV over the next hour,” you answered as Dean stepped up. “He should start to show improvements soon.”

“Someone did this to Kenny and Curtis,” Dean said to Leah, but you couldn’t help noticing that he refused to make eye contact with her for more than a brief second at a time, even while he reassured her. “Someone is hurting people. I know you don’t think you know anything about what happened, but can you think of anyone that may have wanted to hurt Kenny? Another student? A neighbor? Maybe someone he works with?”

Leah wiped at her face with the sleeve of her jacket. “No. Kenny’s got lots of friends. Everyone at school loves him. He doesn’t have a job, so there’s no employer or disgruntled co-workers to go after him. His mom and dad aren’t around much.”

You could see the wheels turning behind Dean’s eyes. Kenny’s family was well off. He didn’t need to work.

You wondered briefly if someone might be trying to hurt Kenny because of his family’s money. But it seemed much more likely that a kidnapping and ransom situation would be better suited to that theory.

Sam’s phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket to gaze at the caller ID. “It’s the Sheriff.” He put the phone to his ear as he headed for the doorway. “Just confirmed envenoming,” he was saying into the phone as he closed the door behind him.

You handed Leah a tissue and she went back to Kenny’s side while you and Dean moved to the back of the room.

“Maybe not our kind of thing after all,” you said to him quietly. 

Dean’s hands were in his pockets and he dragged his bottom lip between his teeth. “I don’t know,” he said. “What if someone is trying to make horcruxes?”

You blinked at him. “Your nerd is showing.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Kenny’s unconscious form in the bed. “Seriously, though. I think we ought to stick around on this one. Anyone who poisons people with snake venom is a monster.” 

You couldn’t hide your surprise. Not from him. He saw it floating there behind your eyes when his gaze locked on yours.

“What? You don’t think we should stay?”

You narrowed your eyes at him, trying desperately to glimpse something - anything - that would explain why he wasn’t acting like himself. “All right, that’s it. Come with me.”

You led Dean out of the room and down the hallway, studying the signage on the doors as you passed them until you found an on-call room. You opened the door slightly and peeked inside, finding it empty. You pulled Dean in by the hand and shut the door behind you, rounding to face him.

Dean grinned at you like an idiot, saying,. “Well, I’ll be damned if most of the good dreams don’t start exactly like this.”

The corner of your mouth twitched in amusement at his presumption that you’d pulled him into a private area of the hospital just to play doctor. He was already taking a step toward you, hands going to your hips as he came to stand right in front of you.

“Something’s going on, Winchester. What’s up?”

“What’s up?” It was a shit-eating grin on his face now as he looked down toward the growing bulge in his pants and back up at you. “Only one thing I can think of, Doc.”

You rolled your eyes, realizing he was hopelessly lost in this fantasy he thought you were trying to construct. “God, Dean….” You laughed softly, hand going to the back of his neck as his smile turned into one of mild confusion. 

“I mean, if you’d rather I could take a turn playing the doctor,” he offered as he lifted the stethoscope from your neck and draped it around his own, wagging his eyebrows up and down, awaiting your endorsement.

And despite your current predicament and the fact that you were still certain something was actually going on, you couldn’t help but quickly file away his offer in your brain for another time. 

“As sexy as you look standing here in your white shirt and slacks with a stethoscope slung around your neck,” you began. “That’s not at all where I was going with this.”

His face fell as you burst a bubble in his little role-playing scenario. You honestly hated the genuine disappointment behind his eyes, but there were still sick kids to save.

“Look,” you told him, reaching out to grip the ends of the stethoscope lightly to pull him closer to you. “If I promise to make it up to you by playing this little fantasy out when all this is over, can we talk about something?”

He studied your face for a heartbeat, tongue playing just behind his teeth. “Yeah, okay. What do you want to talk about?”

“You.”

He hadn’t been expecting that. It was obvious from the way his eyes widened and he leaned back on his heels, rocking lightly. “What about me?”

“Whatever is bothering you,” you pressed. He opened his mouth to argue and you raised an eyebrow, stopping him before he could start. “And don’t deny it, Winchester. I know you. I know when there’s something you’re not saying.”

He took a step backward then, moving away from you. While you were tempted to close the space between you, you resisted the urge, watching as he ran a hand over his hair, the other landing to rest on his hip. 

“What is it?” you asked softly. “Just tell me.”

He turned away for a second, pretending to gaze at the poster on the wall by the door. It was a long moment before he spoke. “It’s Leah, okay?”

 _What about Leah?_ you wondered to yourself, but waited patiently for him to explain.

“She just looks like someone else.” The note of finality in his tone didn’t invite discussion, but you weren’t satisfied with that answer. 

“Like who?” you asked.

He let out a heavy sigh filled with so much burden you could feel the air in the room grow heavier with it. “Like - like someone I met a long time ago.”

You were treading carefully, wanting to learn as much as he was willing to share. It was the only way you could help him process whatever was bothering him. “Okay….”

“It was 2004,” he said slowly, still staring at the wall. “I was in this little suburb on the outskirts of Denver working a case by myself. Dad and I had been working in Omaha when we got a call about a case and he sent me to check it out while he stayed behind to wrap things up. It ended up being a Shapeshifter.” 

He paused for a second, turning back around to face you. “The son of a bitch killed a girl after making her watch her parents die. I was tracking him. I was onto him. I just didn’t get there in time. But that didn’t stop it from taking on her likeness and taunting me with her face for three days while I struggled to get the drop on him.”

You took a step closer to him, and he met your outstretched hand with his own, intertwining your fingers as he finished. 

“She looked just like Leah. And I mean exactly like her. I’d believe it if someone told me that girl and Leah were sisters - twins even. That’s just a face that still haunts me. I’ll never forget … ”

You gave his hand a supportive squeeze. And that explained why he’d been looking at her like she was a ghost or something. “Must be strange looking at her.”

He let out a breath. “Just some crazy coincidence that they look so much alike. But being around her is just making it all come flooding back, you know?”

You nodded. Everything he was saying made complete sense of his behavior. He’d been surprised by the uncanny resemblance, and then probably flooded with guilt every time he looked at Leah because he hadn’t been able to save this other girl. He didn’t want to let Leah down. And that meant saving Kenny.

You wrapped your arms around his neck and hugged him to you, holding him close. “I’m sorry,” you said after a moment.

“Don’t be,” he told you. “I don’t want to forget. We’re usually the only ones who know what really happens to the people we can’t save. If we don’t remember them - remember the truth - who will?”

And goddammit if that didn’t break your heart and patch it right back up all at once. Dean had always had the power to do just that. You wondered how you might describe that to him. To explain just how brave and insightful his words were. 

But the moment was over when he quirked an eyebrow at you and said, “You mean it when you promised to play doctor later?”

You laughed softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his lips. “Cross my heart.”

Sam was standing just outside Kenny’s room when you and Dean returned.

“Well,” Sam said. “Just got the Sheriff caught up to speed. They’re going to start interviewing the students at the school to see if they can track down any leads. Looks like they’ve got it from here.”

“We’re staying,” Dean countered.

Sam furrowed his brow. “We’re - wait, what?”

“We’re gonna help out with this one.”

The finality in Dean’s tone stunned Sam into silence for a heartbeat before he managed a “Yeah, of course.”

“Hey,” Dean said, cocking his head to the side, eyebrows knitting together as he looked to you. “I think they just paged you.” You blinked at him, trying to process what he was saying. “Over the intercom,” he added. “I think they just paged you to the E.R..”

It was like a nostalgic skip in the Matrix, but Dean was right. The male voice on the intercom was calling for you to report to the nurse’s station in the Emergency Department downstairs. 

“Right,” you said. “Kara, I’ll be downstairs if you need me. Back asap. Don’t leave Kenny alone.”

Kara nodded as she updated the whiteboard on the wall.

“I’m coming with you,” Dean told you adamantly.

“Give me the keys,” Sam told him quickly. “We haven’t spoken with Curt’s family since we learned about the envenoming. Maybe I can finally ask the right questions now.”

Dean tossed Sam the keys and jogged down the hall to catch up with you. The three of you took the elevator down and Sam headed for the parking lot while you and Dean rounded the hall to the nurse’s station. It was there you found Chief Richards putting her cell phone in her lab coat pocket and looking disgruntled.

“What is it?” you asked her.

She took a breath, sighing regretfully. “We’ve got another one.”


	7. Chapter 7

The Chief led you and Dean to an exam room around the corner, updating you as you walked. 

“17-year old male presenting with mild respiratory symptoms, non-specific abdominal and chest pains, other vitals are relatively normal. He seems a little altered but insists he hasn’t taken anything. He’s a student at Valor Hall. I thought that was worth mentioning.”

“That makes three,” Dean said with a loaded sigh.

“May I?” you held out your hand for the tablet that contained the charted information and she handed it over happily. 

Chief Richards paused in front of an exam room and pulled back the curtain. She introduced you quickly to the two nurses who were helping with Dylan’s care. 

Dylan was over six feet tall with an athletic build - not so different from Kenny. He was sitting propped up on a bed and having an IV put in.

“I’ve got this,” you told Chief Richards, nodding confidently and catching the relief behind her eyes. She had a bustling emergency room to manage and appeared genuinely grateful for the help.

“The doctor is going to take a look at you,” the Chief told Dylan and his sister, Nora, who appeared to be in high school, as well, and was standing a few feet away in the corner. “There’s a good chance you’ll be spending the night, so settle in.”

The Chief left you to your exam and Dean stood back far enough to observe without getting in the way.

“I knew it,” Nora muttered, casting an irritated glance at her brother. “Mom and Dad are going to freak. Whatever it is you’ve gotten into, they’re going to lose it.”

Dylan’s head rolled to the side to better glare at her in return, which at least meant he was responsive even though his speech was slurred and he wasn’t making much sense when he opened his mouth to speak. “I haven’t,” Dylan insisted - a little breathless. “Goo. Just goo, and … ” But he was so distracted by the nurse trying to take his temperature that he stopped mid-sentence.

“They’ll find out anyway,” Nora stated, crossing her arms over her chest. “Besides, your pupils are blown wide. You’re not fooling anyone.” She spoke directly to Dean, then, encouraged by his law enforcement vibe. “You will run tests and prove it, won’t you? It would be great if he was the one getting in trouble for once.”

“Dylan,” you said, stepping up to the bed and squeezing his hand to draw his attention to you. “Dylan, I need to know if you’ve been around any snakes recently.”

Dylan blinked in protest as you checked his eyes with your light. But his response again made literally no sense. “Only - only goo. Goo-ooo-ahh!” He sat straight up, his hand going to his abdomen as his eyes squeezed shut against the sudden onslaught of pain. “Eating me…. My insides.”

“Dylan?” You laid a hand on his shoulder. “Just breathe. We’ve got you.”

He actually whimpered then and relaxed against the bed again as you put your stethoscope on, mumbling, “Hot goo.”

“Do your parents know you’re here?” you asked, directing the question at Nora.

“They’re on their way. Flight got cancelled from New York and they’re trying to get another. He’s been doing that on and off for an hour. It just comes and goes. He’s probably faking it.“

“Dylan, you said ‘hot’…. Is it like heartburn?” you asked, hoping for a nod or a head shake you could make sense of.

“Goo. So - soooo hot…. Eating me.”

“God, whatever you took I hope it was worth it,” Nora added bitterly. 

“What’s his temp?” you asked the closest nurse.

“98.9,” she answered.

A glance at the vitals monitor showed his pulse ox to be 96%. You held the bell of the stethoscope to his chest and listened long enough to ascertain that his lungs were clear and his heartbeat was a little on the fast side, but otherwise had a normal rhythm.

“He’s a little short of breath, and while his lungs sound clear, that doesn’t mean something isn’t going on,” you said. “You said this has been happening on and off for an hour?”

“He started acting like a complete weirdo three or four hours ago,” Nora explained. “I thought he could sleep it off, but an hour ago he started complaining that he was in pain and I gave in and brought him here.”

You instructed one of the nurses to order a set of labs and get an EKG on him. Lowering his bed to position him flat, the nurse began drawing blood from the inside of Dylan’s elbow while you palpated his belly and abdomen, feeling for any enlargement or abnormalities. He winced on and off but you couldn’t narrow down his discomfort to any one specific area. It didn’t appear to be related to his kidneys, gallbladder, pancreas, or appendix, though you needed an ultrasound to rule those out for sure. You ordered that next, and when the nurses went to retrieve the machine and deliver the blood samples to the lab you nodded at Dean to come forward.

“Nora, is it?” Dean said, flashing his badge for her to see. “Agent Moore. F.B.I.. I have a few questions. I’m assuming you guys know Curtis and Kenny?”

“Kenny?” she asked, suddenly looking more concerned than she had the entire time. “His girlfriend Leah is my best friend. What’s wrong with Kenny?”

“Kenny’s upstairs,” you answered. “He’s not doing so well.”

“Is - is it the same thing Curt had?”

“It’s looking that way,” Dean added. “And since you’re all running in the same circles, if you know anything that could help us cut to the chase you’d be doing your friend and her boyfriend a favor.”

Nora gazed at her brother then. He was staring at the ceiling tiles and moaning incoherently. “We give each other a lot of shit, but I don’t want him to die. Is he going to die?”

“Not on my watch,” you told her, hoping it was a promise you’d find a way to keep.

Nora swallowed hard and met Dean’s eyes. “What do you want to know?”

Dean started in on the questioning, grilling Nora about any recent encounters Dylan or any of the other boys may have had with snakes, about whether she knew of anyone he and the others had been in contact with that had been acting strange, whether anyone might want to hurt the boys. She couldn’t think of any useful answers to any of those questions, and Dean realized he’d need to dig deeper. “Where could all the guys have been together lately?” he asked.

“Where haven’t they been together?” Nora said. “They’re all on the Football team. They had three games in the last 8 days.”

The nurses set to work drawing blood samples for the labs you wanted ordered, including those to check for envenoming as you were instructed that the lab’s computers were up and running again. That also meant the rest of Kenny’s results would hopefully be waiting for you when you got back upstairs.

You used an ultrasound to examine Dylan’s abdomen and stomach. Dylan held relatively still during the test, considering he was obviously in pain. He whimpered and moaned but you were able to get clear images and confirm that there were no obvious signs of enlargements, swelling, obstructions, or internal bleeding of any kind. His gallbladder and appendix looked healthy, leaving you with more questions than answers.

You were wiping the ultrasound gel from his skin when he shot straight up on the bed again, this time clutching at his heart. 

“Teeth,” he said, breathlessly. “My heart…. It’s gnawing and chewing. And gooooo….”

“Lay back, Dylan,” you encouraged him, a hand on his shoulder. “I’m going to figure this out, okay?” Dylan resisted at first but you managed to coax him back down after a moment. “Get a rush on those labs,” you instructed a nurse as she finished collecting the vials of blood for testing. “I’m writing up admit orders so you’ll have those ready to go if necessary. I’ll be upstairs if you need me. Call me when the results are in.”

The other nurse was getting Dylan a nasal cannula with oxygen to help him breathe easier. “We’re running some tests,” you assured Nora. “We’ll know more soon. I’ll let you know what the next step is when we have some answers.”

She nodded in silence, and you could tell she was more worried than she’d been letting on.

“So this is how the others started?” Dean asked as the two of you rode the elevator back upstairs.

You sighed. “Most likely. Curtis presented with similar symptoms when he turned up in the ER. They never figured out what was wrong. Kenny was home alone when Leah found him, so it’s hard to know if he presented in the same way, but Curtis’s condition was similar to Kenny’s as he worsens. At this point it’s entirely possible they’re all linked.”

Kara had the lab results waiting for you when you returned to Kenny’s room. You combed over them with her, realizing there wasn’t much to aid in adding to your current treatment plan. The results confirmed envenoming, which you already knew from your whole blood clotting test. And aside from ruling out things like infections, and a drop in his red blood cell count, none of it was noteworthy. 

The worst of it was that you’d expected Kenny to improve some after administering the antivenom, but the opposite was actually true. It was after six o’clock now, more than an hour after the infusion of antivenom had begun, and despite having received a full dose Kenny was getting worse. The only promising sign was that his pupils were equal, round, and appropriately reacting to light, an improvement since you’d last checked prior to his receiving the antivenom.

You used your stethoscope to auscultate Kenny’s heart and lungs again, trying your best to wear a neutral expression as you did so, feeling both Dean and Leah’s eyes on you as you listened. You followed Dean out into the hall afterward, saying, “Something else is going on here.”

“What? Because snake poison isn’t enough?”

“The envenoming … it still fits. But the antivenom should be improving his condition faster than this. What if we were right to begin with? What if there’s some supernatural element to all of this and we just haven’t figured it out yet?”

“Maybe it’s time to check in with Sam and … ” But Dean’s voice trailed off as he stared over your shoulder at something down the hall.

“What is it?” you said, turning slowly to look for yourself. What you saw was a teenage boy attempting to peek through the blinds into Kenny’s room.

“Hey,” Dean called out gruffly, mostly just an attempt to get the boy’s attention, but the boy only briefly glanced at the two of you before his expression turned to one of panic. He snatched his backpack off the floor and sped back down the hall in the opposite direction. 

“No - come on. Dammit…. I’m getting too old for this,” Dean muttered under his breath as he set off in pursuit. 


	8. Chapter 8

You hesitated as Dean jogged down the hall, trailing the teenager who had been watching Kenny through the window to his hospital room. You were torn between leaving Kenny and helping Dean in pursuit. 

With impeccable timing, Kara, the nurse helping you to care for Kenny, opened the door from his room locked eyes with you. 

“Kara, don’t leave Kenny alone,” you called out to her. “Not until I get back. You got that?”

Kara looked a little startled but nodded, stepping back inside Kenny’s room to stay with him as you turned on your heels and followed in the direction Dean had gone, moving as quickly as you could go without flat out running down the halls of the hospital. 

You might have passed the stairwell if you hadn’t recognized the deep voice on the other side of the door. You opened it quickly and stepped in, finding Dean down half a flight of stairs below with the teenage boy pinned against the wall, one arm twisted lightly behind his back.

“Come on now, what do you know?” Dean demanded as you approached.

“What - what do you mean? I don’t know any-”

“You spook a little too easy for a guy who doesn’t know anything. Look, we can do this here, or we can do it at the station. I’m sure the Sheriff would be just as curious as I am to know what your interest is in this case.”

The kid was indignant. “I’m only here because my friends are sick. One of them is already dead, and I’m worried about the others.”

“Still doesn’t explain why you ran,” Dean pressed.

“Agent Moore,” you cut in. “Why don’t you let me?”

Dean wiped his face with a hand, taking a breath like he was trying to talk himself into it. He nodded after a beat and took a step back, occupying himself with double checking that no one else was coming.

The kid turned around, shaking his arm out and glaring at Dean while you took a step closer. 

“What’s your name?” you asked, trying to sound casual.

“Luke.”

“You go to school with the kids who are sick, don’t you?” you asked, gesturing to his Letterman’s jacket. He managed a nod after glancing briefly at Dean again. “I know it must be hard losing a classmate,” you said calmly. “But Kenny is really sick, and Dylan is showing the same signs and symptoms.”

“They’re dying,” Dean added abruptly. 

Luke visibly flinched, eyes shifting from Dean and back to you, his expression desperate. “Is - is that true? Are Kenny and Dylan going to die?”

You touched his shoulder sympathetically. “There’s a very real chance we’re going to lose them if we don’t figure out what’s wrong. And soon. If you know anything - anything at all - that might be helpful, it could help us save their lives.”

Luke didn’t speak up right away, in fact he was wringing his hands nervously now, but Dean’s instincts had been right. He was definitely hiding something.

“On the other hand,” Dean added. “If you know something that could help us, and you keep that from us, you’re playing a role in their deaths, kid. You want that on your conscious for the rest of your life?”

“What do you want to know?” he resigned. “I don’t think I’ll be much help, but I don’t want my friends to die.”

“Have you or the other boys been in contact with any snakes recently?”

“God no.” He shuddered at the thought, and he seemed to be telling the truth. “I hate the things. No. No way…. I don’t go near ‘em.”

“This is going to sound weird,” Dean began, “but Dylan’s been going on and on about something gooey.” He paused a beat to let that sink in. “Did you guys by chance get into anything? A chemical, by chance?”

“Okay, that is a little weird,” Luke said slowly, chewing his lip as he seemed to mull the question over. “Nothing gooey. I don’t have the slightest clue what Dylan could be … ” But his voice trailed off like maybe something was dawning on him just then.

“What?” Dean asked. “What is it?”

He shifted his weight, considering Dean. “It - it’s probably nothing,” Luke offered. 

Dean stepped forward. “That’s for me to decide.”

Luke shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and shrugged. “We’re together a lot, but we’re usually with the rest of the football team. Except that recently the four of us … Let’s just say there’s this woman at the Butterfly House. Her name is Wen.“

“Are you telling me you all went National Geographic Channel at the Butterfly House with the same woman?” Dean blurted out, looking equally baffled and impressed.

Luke’s face screwed up with disgust. “What? No. We, uh, we all kissed her though.” He glanced at you, quickly adding, “Not at the same time, either. We just - we had a bit of a dare going on. She’s seriously hot.”

Dean sighed. “So what you’re telling me is you’ve got no game with girls your own age.” 

“We were just messing around. Curt and Kenny have girlfriends. It’s not like - it didn’t mean anything. At least I didn’t think it did until she started acting a bit possessive.”

You frowned at him. “How do you mean?”

“I’ve been by every night for the last week to see her, but last night things were a little weird. She was going on and on about how I was the only faithful one who had returned to see her, and none of the others had come by more than just the once.”

“When did all this start?” you asked.

“Two weeks ago.”

Dean turned to face you. “It’s a little weak as far leads go. You quirked an eyebrow at him. “You,” he said, sticking a finger to Luke’s chest. “Stay put.” Dean followed you back down a few steps, lowering his voice when he spoke. “Didn’t Leah mention that Kenny’s girlfriend has been spending time at some Butterfly place since Kenny died?” 

He was right, and you nodded to confirm it. 

Dean took a deep breath and sighed before approaching Luke again. “All right. I know I’m going to regret asking this, but you’re going to have to give us the whole story.” 


	9. Chapter 9

You gazed at Dean and then back at Luke, the boy he’d caught gazing into Kenny’s hospital room before chasing him down to question him.

“If you think something in the Butterfly House is making my friends sick, I want to help. I - I can take you,” Luke offered as you and Dean stood with him in the stairwell of the hospital. 

Dean frowned. “No. No way.”

“But they’re my friends. And the whole thing - the stupid dare about making out with Wen - it was my idea.”

“And you could start showing symptoms any minute now,” you argued. “You’re staying here with me so I can make sure you’re not next.” Luke seemed to realize he wasn’t going to win against that logic and gave a resolute nod just as your phone rang, the sound reverberating off the walls in the stairwell. You answered it quickly, taking the message from the nurse on the other end. “I want Dylan admitted,” you told her. “If there’s another room near Kenny that would be ideal. And administer a round of antivenom. I’ll be there to check on him soon.” You hung up the phone and found Dean watching you expectantly. “Labs confirmed our suspicions.”

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose. “All right. You keep an eye on Romeo here. Sam is on his way back right now.”

“Doesn’t really matter that Curt’s parents didn’t know anything about him coming into contact with a snake now that we have a nature reserve to investigate,” he continued. “Sam and I will go check it out.“

As you and Luke approached Kenny’s room, Kara’s head poked out from the doorway. You knew the look on her face, recognized the thinly veiled panic.

“Doctor,” she said as you jogged toward her. “Kenny’s tachypneic and tachycardic.”

Luke hurried to keep up with you. “What’s that? What’s happening? Is he getting worse?”

You paused briefly at the doorway and said, “Luke, I need you to do something for me. I need you to be strong and sit with Leah while I help Kenny. Kenny’s parents aren’t around, and she’s been alone in this. Can you do that for me?”

Luke nodded, moving at once to guide Leah out into the hall despite her tears and protesting while you rushed to Kenny’s bedside.

“It’s okay, Leah,” you prompted as she planted her feet in the doorway, unwilling to move. “Go with Luke into the waiting area just down the hall. I’ll be out to speak with you as soon as I can.”

The door closed a few seconds later and you turned your full attention to Kenny. Kara hadn’t been exaggerating. His condition was definitely worsening, quickly now. His respiratory rate had gone from mild dyspnea to moderate respiratory distress with 40 respirations per minute. His heart rate had also gone up to hovering around 115 beats per minute, and the rhythm was becoming more and more erratic.

“At this rate he’s going to need a ventilator,” you told Kara. You took a quick listen to Kenny’s chest, which only confirmed what you knew to be true. His heart and lungs couldn’t function under this kind of stress for long without risk of complete organ failure. “Let’s get a portable chest x-ray. I want to see what we’re dealing with here. And order a blood gas.”

“Got it.” Kara picked up the phone on the wall and made the call to order the x-ray.

“Find out when we can get him moved up to ICU,” you added. She nodded and you adjusted the flow of oxygen for Kenny. “I’ll be right back.”

Luke and Leah were watching through the blinds in the hall, but her crying had slowed to the occasional hiccup. She rambled off a string of questions when you came out of the room.

“Why can’t he breathe? I thought the medicine was supposed to help? Maybe you were wrong about the snake.”

“We’re still administering the antivenom, but Kenny’s likely had a strong dose of venom. It’s also possible he’s reacting to the antivenom. It doesn’t come without risks. But it’s too early in the treatment to know for sure how he’ll respond.”

Leah sighed, not at all happy with your lack of new information for her. But what you’d told her was as close to the truth, or as much of the truth as you could manage.

“I think it’s time we put Kenny on a ventilator to help him breathe,” you added.

“A ventilator?” Leah’s stared at you in horror.

“I know it sounds scary, but the machine will help take the stress off his lungs and support the oxygen flow to the rest of his body. It’ll buy us some time for the medicine to work. We just have to be patient and be strong for him, okay?”

“Just save him,” she pleaded. “Do whatever you have to do. Just save him.”

You nodded, your heart breaking a little for her at watching her boyfriend suffer. “We’re going to be moving him upstairs to ICU where we have better access to all the things we need to take care of him. It may be a bit before you’re allowed back in the room with him when that happens. Do you want to come in for a minute and be with him before he’s moved?”

She wiped below her eyes with her thumb and forefinger, scraping away any traces of running mascara from her tears. “Yeah. Yeah, I do. Can Luke come with me?”

You glanced at Luke, and although he seemed a little surprised at her request, he put a tentative arm around Leah’s shoulder and said, “I’ll come in with you.”

“There’s just one more thing,” you said to Leah. “Earlier you mentioned Curt’s girlfriend - Megan, was it?”

“Yeah.”

“Did you say she visits a botanical center?”

Leah nodded. “Some place called the Butterfly House.”

“Megan’s hanging out at the Butterfly House?” Luke asked. “What for?”

Leah’s brow furrowed and she sighed. “She says she can feel Curt there. Like she feels close to him when she’s there or something. I - I thought at first she might be losing it, but knowing she went through all of this with Curt, like I am now with Kenny … “ Leah glanced toward Kenny’s bed, a fresh set of tears welling up in her eyes that she dabbed at with a jacket sleeve. “I can’t say I blame her.”

You let Luke and Leah stay with Kenny until the radiology tech. came in for the portable chest x-ray and then led them both to the waiting room nearest the ICU. You promised to keep Leah updated on Kenny’s condition. 

The chest x-ray confirmed Kenny had pulmonary edema and you moved forward with a ventilator. 

In ICU Kenny had a new nurse helping you to manage his care, and you spoke with her to catch her up and make sure you were both on the same page, as well as giving her your cell number.

When you stepped out of the room again Luke was sitting alone in the waiting area. 

“Where’s Leah?” you asked, concerned at her sudden absence.

“She’s in the restroom, probably splashing some water on her face,” Luke explained. 

“How are you feeling?” you asked him, sitting in the chair next to him and pulling out your pen light to shine into each of his eyes. His pupils hadn’t begun to dilate at all, which was a good sign.

“I’m fine,” he assured you. “I’m telling you, whatever it is, I don’t have it. Not yet, at least.”

You’d debated earlier about getting labs on Luke as a precaution, but he wasn’t exhibiting any symptoms at all, so it seemed like a stretch, even considering the circumstances.

“You promise to tell me if you start feeling off,” you reminded him.

He nodded. “Promise. Hey, can I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“I just - I still don’t see how the Butterfly House or Ms. Gu has anything to do with these guys being sick. I’m not sick, and I’ve been there more than they-”

You were certain you’d heard him wrong. “Wait, hold up. Ms. _what_?”

Luke blinked at you.”Ms. Gu. G-U. She’s the woman I was telling you and Agent Ranaldo about. I - I thought maybe you suspected she was responsible for whatever is going on.”

“Her name is Gu?” You couldn’t hide your desperation. “Are you sure?”

Luke shrugged. “That’s what the name plate on her office door at the The Wichita Gardens says. Wen Gu.”

You took a deep breath and tried to decide how to handle this new information. “Luke, can you watch for Leah and stay with her? Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back. I’ve got to make a call.”

Luke may have been surprised by your reaction, but he nodded and stayed seated while you walked down the hall.

Dean answered on the third ring. “Hey Doc, Kenny doing okay?”

“He’s - no, he’s really not. Dean, listen to me. I need you to know what you’re walking into. This woman at the Butterfly House … she goes by Wen Gu…. Gu,” you repeated for Dean. “Spelled g-u, not g-o-o….”

Dean was silent for a heartbeat as he considered you. “Hot Gu? Well, hell. Dylan was talking about this lady the whole time.“

“The timeline fits. It takes 10 days for symptoms to present. Dean, you and Sam have to be careful. She’s-”

But Dean interrupted you, voice lower like he didn’t want to be overheard. “Hey, hold on one sec.” 

Your heart sank. “Dean? What’s wrong?” But he didn’t answer right away. You waited with bated breath for a response. Then you thought you heard he and Sam talking in low tones.

“I’ve got eyes on our Hot Gu,” he said into the phone then, voice barely above a whisper. “I’m going in…. I’ll-” 

But the connection dropped out and you didn’t catch the rest of his sentence. You called back twice but it went straight to voicemail.

You left a message the second time. 

“Dean, you’re freaking me out. God, I just hope everything’s okay. If this woman is working Gu magic, there’s a possibility that an antidote is nearby. Without that antidote, we’ll lose Kenny and Dylan, and anyone else she may have poisoned. Just please, call or text me when you can. I need to know you’re both okay.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dylan had finally been admitted in the room next to the one Kenny had occupied before you’d moved him to ICU. You could only assume Kenny’s progression had been very similar to the way Dylan was presenting now, though no one had been around to witness it. If his temperature hadn’t been normal, you’d have called what Dylan was experiencing possible fever dreams. He was randomly clutching at his heart or his stomach, and had stopped mumbling about ‘Hot Gu’ and was now crying out about how something was gnawing at him from the inside.

And now that you knew he was likely suffering the effects of Gu poison, all the talk of snakes and scorpions and being eaten from inside made sense.

Once you’d laid out clear orders for the nurse to follow, anticipating Dylan’s impending respiratory and cardiac distress, you pulled Dylan’s sister aside to speak with her. 

“Nora,” you said, fully appreciating that the girl’s rather flippant attitude downstairs had changed dramatically since she’d realized how sick her brother actually was. “I have some new information that is going to change the way we treat Dylan’s condition. I’m just working with the right people to get the medicine he needs here asap. I’m going to take care of him, okay?”

Nora had only nodded, and then turned away to answer her cell phone when it rang. From what little bits you caught of the conversation it sounded like she and Dylan’s parents had finally booked a flight and would be arriving in the next four or five hours.

You left Dylan in the care of his very capable nurse and headed for the Chief’s office. 

Dr. Richard’s face displayed a mix of emotions as you explained to her that you and your FBI partners were fairly certain there was poison involved in Curt, Kenny and now Dylan’s cases.

“You mean poison poison?” She asked, emphasis thrown in for good measure. “I thought we were dealing with snake venom.”

“We are,” you said, searching for the right words. “At least partly. I believe there’s some other substance making them sick. A combination of venom and something else. That’s why the antivenom isn’t working like we expected even though all of our tests have confirmed envenoming.”

You couldn’t tell her the ‘something else’ was likely a supernatural element coming into play.

Dr. Richards leaned forward, interlocking her fingers on her desk before her. She shook her head softly and gazed up at you where you stood across from her. “Tell me you and your partners at the Bureau have an inkling as to what else we might be dealing with.”

“We do,” you answered. “We have a solid lead. Agents Moore and Ranaldo are chasing it down as we speak.”

“What do you need from me?” the Chief asked, a new level of focus in her eyes at the prospect of an end to all the craziness brought down on her hospital by these recent events.

“I need you to keep Kenny alive so I can go after them,” you said bluntly. “I’ve gotten some new insights since I last spoke to my partners, but when I tried to call them with the information my call dropped out. I haven’t been able to reach them since. I think there may be an antidote to this poison we’re dealing with, and Kenny is running out of time.”

Chief Richards stood up from her chair and nodded definitively. “What are you waiting for?” she said, gesturing for you to take your leave.

“I, uh, I also don’t have a car,” you admitted.

You changed your clothes quickly in the locker room, putting on your more functional jeans, tank and a flannel that made it easy to conceal your handgun. You were grateful you’d tucked it all away in the locker before. It was the only weapon you had access to.

The Chief had personally taken over Kenny’s care so you could leave, and she was speaking with Leah in the waiting room when you walked by. 

Luke saw you out of your doctor’s garb and jumped to his feet, following you down the hall. “You’re going to the Butterfly House, aren’t you?” he asked as he walked with you. “Take me with you.”

“If you want to help, go sit with Leah. She seems to appreciate having a friend with her right now.”

“I did this,” Luke stated adamantly. “Whatever is happening to my friends - whatever is killing them - I think it’s my fault. I’m the one who led them to that place. The least I can do is help find whatever it is there that’s making them sick so you’ll have a chance at making them better.”

You stopped walking and looked at him. There was a fire in his eyes, fueled by guilt and determination. And you admired that in him, recognized it, even.

“I shouldn’t,” you said slowly. “It’s dangerous.”

“That’s why you need me. Wen knows me. Maybe she’ll help us find whatever it is that’s making everyone sick.”

He was naive, at best. And you didn’t exactly know how to tell him yet that his Wen Gu was the most likely suspect. But he did have a point. He might be able to help shave off some time in the search for the antidote. 

“Don’t make me regret this,” you said, gesturing for him to fall into step next to you.

Luke walked with you out to the parking lot and you scanned the spaces, locating the silver BMW you were searching out.

“Nice car,” Luke said as you opened the driver’s door and slid in while he jumped into the passenger’s side.

“It sure is,” you agreed. “Dr. Richards has good taste.” Luke raised an eyebrow at you and you added. “Buckle up. I need to tell you something before we get to the Butterfly House.”

“Okay,” Luke said casually as you pulled out into the road. “Oh, take a left at the next light.”

You signaled and pulled into the turning lane, stopping at the red light. “It’s about Wen Gu,” you added. “I think she’s directly responsible for making the others sick.”

Luke turned to look at you. “I thought you were worried about snakes or bugs or something?”

“There’s a type of poison,” you explained. “It’s a combination of venom and toxins that’s created by putting several species of poisonous creatures together - for instance a snake, a scorpion, spiders - in one container until they eat each other … and only one is left standing. Then you harvest the combined toxins from the surviving creature.”

Luke took a deep breath and blew it out, clearly not understanding the severity of what you were saying. “That sounds like a scary story you’d tell a bunch of cub scouts on a camp out to scare the living shit out of them.”

“You know, most scary stories and urban legends hold water, at least partially.”

Luke chewed his lip as he gazed out the window, considering you as you moved forward through the intersection and continued on down the road. “Are you trying to tell me Ms. Gu is putting snakes and - and scorpions together and letting them fight to the death to make this … whatever you call it?”

“Gu poison,” you replied. “It’s called Gu poison. And believe it or not, stranger things have happened.”

Luke was stunned into silence then at the implication of the poison and Wen’s last name. It was the first sign that you’d actually started to impress upon him how real all of this was. 

“Gu poison has its roots in Chinese folklore,” you added. “Gu Sorcerers used it to lure men away from their wives. They’d poison the men while they were traveling, but since the Gu poison doesn’t begin to take effect for 10 days, they would make the men promise to return to them within that time. If the man did as the Gu asked and returned to her, she would give him the antidote and the man would be none the wiser. But if the man did not return, he would die a slow painful death from the poison.”

“Ms. Gu,” Luke said, eyes wide with horror. “She wouldn’t - why … why would she do that?”

"Didn’t you say you were the only one who had gone back to see her?” you pointed out, recalling his earlier words.

“Yeah, but-”

“That explains why you’re still alive. She probably gave you the antidote when you returned to her.”

Luke’s expression was one of complete and utter shock and disgust now. “The tea…. She gave me a cup of tea.”

“There you go.”

He looked downright indignant. “What a bitch!” 

“I’m glad we’re on the same page,” you told him.

“It was all just a stupid dare,” Luke said with a heavy sigh. “We thought it would be funny to see if we could all get a few minutes alone with her and make out. I honestly was surprised I managed to pull it off myself after Curt claimed he’d gotten to first base, let alone … ” Luke’s voice trailed off and his gaze moved to the passenger window.

You made a right turn and saw the sign for Botanica - The Wichita Gardens up ahead. “Hey,” you said, trying to get his focus back on the task at hand. “We may know that Wen is responsible, but we’re not exactly sure what she’s capable of. This is dangerous, and the safest place for you is to stay in the car.”

“I already told you,” Luke insisted, raising his voice a little. “This whole stupid thing was my idea. I want to help. What’s our plan?” Luke asked as you changed lanes.

“Agents Moore and Ranaldo are already here. We’re going to do what we can to get the antidote for the Gu Poison and get it back to the hospital while they deal with Ms. Gu.”

“So the agents you work with, they know about this Gu poison?” Luke asked.

“They know of it, yes.”

You turned into the parking lot and saw the Impala parked next to the curb, deciding to park Chief Richards’ BMW behind her. Baby world be locked, of course, which meant you didn’t have access to the arsenal of weapons stored away in her trunk.

You stepped out of the car and drew your .40 caliber from your waist holster, quickly checking your magazine and sliding it back in place with practiced precision that made Luke’s eyes grow wide.

"Were you a military doctor?” he asked as he fell in step behind you.

“Not military,” you said as you eyed the entry doors. “Doesn’t mean I haven’t seen my share of combat.” There was a side entrance and you diverted from the main path and headed for that set of doors. “You usually go the other way?” you asked.

“Yeah.”

You nodded. “Good.” You were hoping to get the drop on Wen Gu if possible.

“Not sure these will even be open,” Luke added as you neared the doors.

“Not going to let that stop us.”

The door was indeed locked, but it took less than a minute to pick it with the kit you kept in your jacket pocket.

You were equally anxious to get inside the Butterfly House and terrified about what condition you might find Sam and Dean in once you did.


	11. Chapter 11

Your immediate concern when arriving at The Wichita Gardens was locating Dean and Sam. When there was no sign of them after a quick jaunt around inside the main building, you and Luke ventured out back 

To your great relief, the guys were both standing in the garden area, about halfway between a greenhouse structure and a pond. Their eyes were trained on the woman who stood ten yards in front of them. 

She had a petite build and hair like a raven with hints of blue where the light hit it just right. 

She turned at an angle to look right at you, and you wondered if your sudden appearance had just caught her off guard, or if she was actually threatened by the fact that another female had just invaded her space. The instant Dean followed her gaze toward you and moved to angle his body between the two of you, it became obvious that the latter was true. 

Gu liked men, and whatever possibilities Wen Gu had been considering after Sam and Dean had wandered into her gardens, you’d just threatened to shake things up simply by arriving. More disturbing than the sudden glow behind her eyes was the malice coming off her in palpable waves.

“Get back,” you said quietly to Luke, reaching out to grip his shoulder to prevent him from advancing forward. 

Luke was obviously torn. You knew he wanted to speak with Wen, but at that moment he caught sight of the eerie green iridescence in her eyes that was anything but natural, and he hesitated.

“Wen?” he asked.

Despite your brief explanation of what you suspected was happening before arriving here, you knew nothing would have prepared him to see that. And if there had been any lingering doubt in your mind that Wen Gu was responsible for Kenny’s failing health - for Curtis’s death - the sight of those poison green eyes eradicated all doubt.

But one second Wen was standing there in front of Sam and Dean, and the next it was like she’d vanished into thin air. Neither of the guys seemed nearly as surprised by her sudden disappearing act as you were, leading you to believe it had been going on before you arrived. Did Gu Sorcerers have the ability to disappear and reappear? You didn’t remember reading anything like that.

Dean turned long enough to look over his shoulder at you, calling out, “Go! We’ve got this.”

You knew he meant for you to go after the antidote. But none of you knew exactly how to kill a Gu Sorcerer. Your research hadn’t shed any light on the best way to eliminate one, either.

You hated the idea of leaving the guys to deal with her on their own, but you’d chosen to bring Luke along with you - and you were responsible for keeping him safe now that he was here. And Kenny and Dylan? They’d likely meet the same fate Curt had if you didn’t get back to them in time with an antidote.

You trusted Sam and Dean, knew they were perfectly capable, and nodded in response, forcing your feet to carry you backward and away from the gardens.

“This way,” Luke called out, waving with a hand for you to follow as he took off running. You followed him back inside the main building, trying to push down the horrible feeling in your gut for having left Sam and Dean.

You followed Luke through a series of short hallways. “It’s just there,” Luke said, pointing up ahead at where a couple of doors were at the end of the corridor.

Just as Luke had said, the name Wen Gu was printed on the door on the left. The door was locked and you worked quickly to pick it, glancing every few seconds back down the hall in the direction you’d come and grateful that you didn’t find Wen Gu making her way toward you.

“The antidote has to be here somewhere,” you exclaimed as you burst into the office at last and began rummaging through the cabinets. 

A floorboard moved under your boot, startling you and causing you to pause. Stepping back, you dropped to your knees and examined the floor more closely.

There were three boards that were wobbly and loose, and you pulled out your knife, using it to pry the first one up and set it aside. 

A glass tank of some kind was down under the floor, still partially concealed beneath the floor. You moved the other loose boards and found yourself staring down into several glass terrariums containing the living creatures Gu Poison was created from after pitting them together in a fight to the death.

“My god,” Luke said softly as he gazed below with you. “You were right about … well, everything.”

There were several black scorpions, separated by glass barriers, and another tank that held one medium sized snake. Yet another small terrarium had sectioned off areas that housed several species of spiders - ones you didn’t care to study closely enough to try and identify.

A chill ran cold up your spine at just staring at the creatures beneath you. It was proof of Wen Gu’s guilt, but it wasn’t an antidote. Taking a deep breath, you sighed and returned the floorboards to their position and got to your feet again to resume your search.

“Do me a favor and keep a lookout in the hall,” you told Luke.

Luke did as you asked, stepping just outside the door to watch.

You tried to calm your racing heart, swallowing down your fear for Dean and Sam at having left them in the garden with the Gu Sorcerer. You prayed they’d find a way to eliminate her and wouldn’t be too far behind you.

“Holy shit….” It was Luke’s voice just outside the door that had you pausing in your search to raise your head. Before you could call out to him to ask what was wrong you heard him say, “Curt? Is that you?”

 _Curtis?_ Curtis was dead. You’d seen his body in the morgue yourself.

You moved silently, creeping across the floor and avoiding the squeaky floorboards until you could peek at an angle through the doorway without being seen.

At first you could only see Luke standing there, his back to you. But then you saw a glimmer of movement over his shoulder. The form of another teenage boy was just beyond him. And you recognized his features. It was Curt’s ghost. Or at least, some version of it. It didn’t look like most ghosts you’d encountered. His likeness shimmered and cast an almost green glow about the space around him.


	12. Chapter 12

Your instincts were screaming at you to throw yourself between Luke and the spirit of Curtis Matheson. But you hesitated for a heartbeat, giving yourself just a second to reassess the situation. Curtis’s spirit didn’t seem malevolent. It was just watching Luke. 

“It’s, uh, it’s good to see you, man,” Luke was saying. “I’ve missed you. We all do. But, uh, since you’re here, maybe I can come visit you from time to time. You know, fill you in on all the latest gossip.”

Luke was taking the whole seeing his dead buddy thing pretty well, considering. You guessed after witnessing the Gu Spirit he was coming to terms with the fact that the world wasn’t what he’d always believed. Part of you was saddened by the knowledge that his innocence was gone. The other part of you - the part dealing with the imminent danger you all faced - was grateful he seemed to be trying to distract Curtis’s spirit to buy you some time.

You made a call and decided to let Luke help like he’d asked you to do. You moved slower now, having to conceal your presence and move stealthily as you returned to your search for the antidote.

“Megan misses you, too,” Luke was saying now. “But I’m sure you knew that. Maybe she’s already been to visit. I hear she’s been spending time here. That must be, you know, nice….“

Having eliminated the desk drawers, you moved onto checking that the books on the shelves weren’t false books. 

None of them were hollow containers made to look like books, and you doubted Luke could entertain Curtis’s spirit long enough for you to quickly slide them all out one at a time to be certain the pages hadn’t been carved away to create a space to hide something like an antidote. 

A manila envelope tucked carefully between the last book and the side of the bookcase caught your attention. You opened it and pinched the sides, dumping the contents onto the desk to find some familiar faces in the photos that shook loose. They were stills from security camera footage. Cameras that appeared to be stationed at the front door entry of the building. But you recognized Kenny, Dylan, Curtis, and even Luke in the photos. To your great relief, there weren’t any faces you didn’t know, which you hoped meant Wen hadn’t poisoned anyone else. 

You had slid three books out and quickly flipped the pages before the thought struck you. If you were trying to hide something precious in this office you’d place it out of sight, but also near the deadly creatures who would keep prying hands at bay.

You got back down on your knees, half-listening to Luke’s one-sided conversation with his friend’s spirit just outside the office as you carefully pulled back the loose floorboards again. You turned on your phone’s flashlight and used it to light up the space, dropping low enough to rest your cheek against the floor to see further behind the glass terrariums that held all the creepy-crawly deadlies.

You almost didn’t see it at first, but with one last desperate sweep of your light you caught sight of a small decorated wooden box set back at least half a foot behind the tank that contained the large black scorpion.

“Shit.” You muttered it under your breath. The snake terrarium was immediately in front of you and would have to come out first.

 _‘Come on’_ , you scolded yourself mentally. _‘It’s not like it’s a freaking shapeshifter or a Rugaru. It’s just a snake….’_

But the logical part of your brain was offended by this sad attempt to get your hands to steady as you reached out and took the glass container by the top edges. This snake was just as deadly as any supernatural creature and deserved to be respected as such. You carefully set aside the snake terrarium, hoping like hell the small screen on the top that kept the serpent from crawling out would hold. 

Once the snake’s tank was out of the way, you were able to shift the scorpion tank over. You picked up your phone and shone the light toward the little box once again, reaching one arm back and barely managing to grip the corner with your outstretched fingers. You slid it toward you slowly, but as the wood dragged along the boards beneath it, it made a high pitched keening sound. You froze, holding your breath and turning your head toward the doorway in anticipation.

“Curt? Hey … it’s cool. I swear,” Luke was saying, barely managing to keep the panic out of his tone at whatever he was seeing now. “We’re just trying to help. I know coming here was my idea. There aren’t enough words to tell you how sorry I am. I - I didn’t know what would happen.” 

You threw caution to the wind and grabbed at the box, hauling it up over the scorpion’s tank and into your lap. To your great relief, the box wasn’t locked. Apparently the deadly creatures had been a satisfying enough deterrent for Wen Gu. 

Inside the box you found a collection of little glass vials containing an amethyst colored liquid. They were small and reminded of you of perfume samples handed out at department stores. 

I hope I’m right about this, you thought as you jumped to your feet and moved to the doorway. 

Luke had all but backed up to the doorway and you stepped up next to him, observing Curtis’s spirit just a few feet away. The corporeal form looked at you, at the box now tucked under your arm, and the instant shift in the spirit’s demeanor made your blood run cold. 

You knew this wasn’t just your run of the mill ghosty-ghost spirit. Curtis was more like a spirit servant to the Gu Sorcerer. As long as she commanded, he’d be enslaved by her. And you’d just taken possession of the very thing Wen Gu was trying to conceal.

Something like static sizzled in the air as the light green glow Curtis had been casting about now turned red. The spirit’s expression turned to one of strict vehemence as it glared at you, drifting closer. You realized if you didn’t move now you’d be forced to retreat back into the office with no way out.

You shoved Luke to the side with your free hand to get him out of the pathway of the spirit, and followed behind him.

“Go!” you called out, urging Luke forward and flat out running back down the hall where you’d come from. But the static sizzled in the air, and you glanced over your shoulder long enough to see that Curtis’s spirit had almost doubled in size and was gaining on you both.

“Luke, here!” 

Luke looked over at you, and without stopping you forced the wooden box into his hands and said, “It’s the antidote. Wait at the car for me. If I don’t make it out, you get this back to the hospital to save your friends. You hear me?”

Luke nodded, cradling it against him with one arm like a football. 

“Run!”

And Luke did run. You had to hand it to him, he was quick. You, on the other hand, slid to a stop, rounding to face Curtis’s spirit.

“Curtis,” you said, mustering up all the gusto in your voice you could while trying to catch your breath. “Curtis listen to me. I’m here to help…. Your friends are getting sick.”

You didn’t know whether it was your words, or the fact that you’d turned to face him with your hands in the air that caused him to hesitate, slowing his pace as he neared you.

“Kenny is dying,” you continued. “And now Dylan is in the hospital, too.”

The red aura pulsing around Curtis’s form began to slow some as he came within inches of your face. You held your ground, refusing to risk another chase by showing your fear.

“Ms. Gu,” you began. “She poisoned you and the others. I’m just trying to stop what happened to you from happening to all of your friends. If we do that, maybe you can find some peace, Curtis.”

Curtis’s spirit actually retreated a few feet, and you wondered if it was considering everything you’d just revealed, but before you could wait to find out, you heard Dean’s voice calling out, “Sammy! No!”

The chill that reverberated through your veins and straight to your heart had nothing to do with the ghost before you. The guys were in trouble, and you didn’t have time to wait around for the indecisive spirit of a high school kid to decide whether it wanted to kill you or help you.

You cast one last pleading glance in Curtis’s direction and then spun on your feet, taking off in the direction you’d heard Dean’s voice. 

Gunshots echoed through the halls as you drew near, five or six in quick succession.

Instinctively you drew your own pistol from your waistband holster and slid to a stop in the opening of the large greenhouse style butterfly and pansy area. 

That was when you caught sight of Dean tucked up against a stack of large rectangular stones in the middle of the green house. He was crouching and reloading his weapon when he caught sight of you, eyes growing wide and a finger coming to his mouth to prevent you calling out.

He gestured for you to hide and you ducked, taking cover in the nearby foliage.

You cast your eyes about, frantically searching for any sign of Sam or Wen Gu. But you couldn’t see whatever Dean had been shooting at. It was only then you realized how hauntingly empty of butterflies the green house was. They should have been fluttering all around you.

“Come out, come out, little Gu,” Dean said, voice taunting, menacing as he turned and rose up just far enough to look out over the rocks he’d used for cover. 

“I know you have a thing for high school kids,” he called out. “But let me tell you something you don’t know yet. I was never a kid. You’re better off not underestimating me.”

Dean locked eyes with you for one brief second, his nod barely perceptible. But you recognized the signal and moved as soon as he did, working your way up to the rocks in the center as Dean moved forward, pistol at the ready. You took a position you could use to cover him should something come out, but you still weren’t entirely sure what you were dealing with.

Wen had to be hiding in the flowers and bushes somewhere ahead. Your throat went dry as you wracked your brain about where that meant Sam could be. Was he hurt somewhere here inside the green house, too? Was he unconscious? Surely he’d have called out to Dean by now if he were able. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat at the thought of him possibly lying unconscious - maybe even bleeding somewhere. 

When Dean stopped in his tracks about ten yards out, you noticed a swarm of butterflies thicker than any of the foliage at your feet was rising into the air. 

They moved like a swarm of bees, or a flock of birds - it was unlike anything you’d ever seen. And there was absolutely nothing natural about it.

The cloud of winged insects took on the form of a person - a woman…. And if there hadn’t been so many of them, the level of detail wouldn’t have been possible. But it was almost as if you were staring at the shape of Wen Gu - twice her usual size - and made completely out of butterflies. 

“God dammit,” Dean growled as he took a few steps backward in your direction, keeping the barrel of his gun trained on the formation.

“Where’s Sam?” you asked, trying to keep your voice low as he drew closer.

“He made it out the other exit,” Dean said, gesturing with a jerk of his chin past the swarm of moving butterflies at the door on the far end. “Got lucky she wasn’t expecting me to pull a gun on her. That bought him a few seconds and those long legs of his did the rest. I hope he’s got a plan.”

“You mean you don’t?” you asked, your pathetic attempt at dry humor amplified by the absolutely horrifying and bizarre predicament you found yourself in.

The butterflies moved to within a couple of yards of where the two of you stood, partially shielded by the big stones. Then they just stopped. They held the form of the woman, fluttering with precision right before you. You held your breath a moment as you tried to anticipate their next move. 

If the swarm was keeping you from getting through, and Sam was out there alone, had Wen gone after him?

“She’s one of ‘em,” Dean said out the side of his mouth, almost like he’d read your mind.

And you realized with a start he meant a butterfly. You’d thought she was disappearing and reappearing earlier when you’d caught up to the guys while they faced off with her. But of course it would look that way from a distance if she were changing into a butterfly. Well hell, the lore had only briefly touched on a Gu Sorcerer’s ability to change into caterpillars or butterflies.

"She’s only vulnerable as an insect,” Dean added.

The good news was that bugs were generally easy to kill. And the bad news? To start, there was an insane amount of butterflies before you. And they were all colors and sizes. And even with their precision to maintain formation, it was hard to focus on any one for more than a few seconds.

“How - how do we know which one?”

Dean’s voice was gruff when he answered. “We don’t.”


	13. Chapter 13

You kept your gun trained on the formation of butterflies, because even if they were being controlled by the Gu Sorcerer they were still vulnerable to bullets, right?

You glanced at Dean, saw his jaw clench, and knew what he was going to do a split second before he pulled the trigger and fired off a shot into the formation. It was a noble attempt at breaking up the swarm of butterflies, even if it didn’t work..

While the butterflies weren’t exactly the problem, they were proving ineffective camouflage for the Gu Sorcerer to hide. And how were you supposed to kill something you couldn’t see?

It was that moment Sam came running into the Butterfly House in the same direction you had come from.

At his sudden reappearance, the swarm of butterflies suddenly appeared more menacing, pulsing with intent.

Sam was wielding a propane torch, like the kind typically used to burn weeds, and he planted himself on the other side of Dean and lit the end of the torch.

Sam hesitated and then held the torch out toward the edge of the greenhouse structure, effectively lighting up the flammable material that enclosed the Butterfly House.

The butterflies motions instantly became chaotic before the swarm dispersed, the little winged insects retreating to the far end of the structure in an attempt to escape the heat and flames that had effectively broken whatever hold the Gu Sorcerer had over them.

All except one.

A single butterfly with wings coated in a Raven’s black and blue shades continued onward coming nearly face-to-face with Dean who stood in the middle of you.

While the swarm had dispersed behind her, the butterfly you were now convinced was the Gu Sorcerer charged onward, unaware the others had abandoned her cause.

You glanced at Dean and Sam, certain the panic in your heart came across in your facial expression as you debated about whether or not the Gu Sorcerer was capable of inflicting damage in this state.

Thankfully Sam wasn’t waiting around to find out. With a sweep of the torch he diverted the butterfly from its path and singed the insect with the heat of the flames.

Obviously wounded and struggling to fly in a straight line, the butterfly retreated to the nearest flowering bush. 

But Sam was one step ahead of her, setting fire to the branches before she could land.

With a pained cry, Wen Gu in her woman’s form was suddenly stumbling and clutching her arm before you. She was only there for the briefest moment, the surprise of seeing her again stealing away the split second opportunity either you or Dean had to put a bullet in her and end the fight.

And then she flashed back into her butterfly form once again, attempting to fly toward the opening that was now being created in the side of the greenhouse by the flames devouring the side of the structure. But the flames and smoke prevented her escape.

Again she flashed into human form, clutching her badly burnt arm with the other and trying to back away from the flames which were now climbing up the greenhouse wall structure and spreading. 

And this time you were ready for it, pointing in and squeezing the trigger, firing off a shot.

But instead of the Gu Sorcerer collapsing to the ground in the heat like you’d hoped, she shifted once again into butterfly form and continued to flutter haphazardly.

Static sizzled in the air then, and you spun instead to find Curtis’s spirit, large and seething and looking downright tortured as he swooped forward. A thick fog flowed along Curtis’s form like an angry cloud, roiling and growing as little static bolts of lightning sizzled and seared the green foliage beneath.

“Curtis, no!” you called out, sprinting forward. You weren’t exactly sure what you hoped to accomplish in that moment. To buy Dean and Sam a second to deal with Wen? To stop Curtis from hurting either of them by standing up to the spirit like you’d already done once?

You heard Dean calling out to you as you threw your hands out in an attempt to distract the spirit as it barreled toward you - but his voice was muffled - faraway sounding, almost like in a dream. But Curtis’s spirit wasn’t as easily deterred this time around.

And you knew then Wen Gu had silently called on him to come to her rescue, or at least provide a distraction so she could make her escape.

Curtis’s spirit wasn’t stopping, and it was too late to try and get out of his way. Just when you thought you might just get fried by the static cloud of power pulsing around Curtis, you instead found yourself being thrown through the side of the green house. The mesh enclosure the fire hadn’t yet reached tore as you plummeted through it. The air rushed from your lungs with the force of your landing, and when you hit the ground you rolled a couple of times and came to a stop with your face in the dirt. 

You turned your head away from the ground, struggled to draw a breath, head pounding and pain radiating through your body. After what felt like five minutes, but was actually more like thirty seconds, you managed to inhale through the shock of it, gasping and relieved to be breathing again.

A series of three gunshots rang through the air, and panic seared through you, helping drive you to your knees. 

And then you saw her - Wen Gu - shifting from butterfly to human form like a light blinking in and out. She’d come through the green house using the hole your body had formed as you’d blasted through the side of it. She didn’t even seem to see you as she attempted to hold her human form long enough to cover some ground.

“Dean?” you tried, but your voice was strained and weak with exertion - little more than a whisper. You watched as Wen Gu blinked out of sight again just fifteen yards away near the pond structure.

Dean was calling your name, and the relief that coursed through you at hearing his voice was almost enough to drop you to the ground again. But you found your legs could hold you, and as the pain ebbed from your limbs, you dared to hope that you hadn’t broken anything or sustained any lasting damage. 

You’d be sore for a few days, for sure, but there was no time to dwell on that now.

You finally saw Dean emerge from the far end of the green house, having gone through the exit and come around to search for you.

You raised a hand to get his attention and he immediately changed course and ran in your direction.

“Here, Sam!” he called out as he neared you, coming to wrap his arms around you and shore you up. “I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he said as he briefly looked you over. “Shit, you’re bleeding. Maybe you should sit.”

“I’m good,” you argued as he dabbed at your forehead with his sleeve.

“Were you knocked out?” He took your face in his hands, looking into your eyes to study your pupils.

“Just knocked the wind out of me.”

Sam caught up just then, his brow furrowed with worry as he looked you up and down.

“I’m fine,” you insisted. You were mostly sure it was true. “Where’s Curtis’s ghost?” you asked, your voice a little stronger now. 

“We put a few iron rounds into it,” Dean answered. “Didn’t seem to like that much, though I’m sure he’ll be back.”

“She’s controlling his spirit,” you added. “I saw her make it outside. She was just there by the fish pond.“ You pointed in the direction you’d last seen Wen in human form. 

“If we stop her, we stop him.”


	14. Chapter 14

“Stay here,” Dean told you gruffly, green eyes sharp with worry after having watched you fly through the wall of the green house.

It was only then you realized you’d lost track of your gun as you’d been thrown.

Dean and Sam both crept forward, pistols drawn and pointed in on the area of the fish pond. You followed closely behind, ignoring the indignant look Dean threw your way once he realized you were coming along.

But there was no sign of Wen Gu at the Koi pond, beyond it, or on the path back to any of the other buildings that you could see. Wounded as she’d been, it was hard to imagine she’d made it far.

“All right, we’re going to have to split up again,” Dean said, looking directly at Sam. “Not you,” he added for your benefit. 

“You don’t have a weapon. You’re staying with me.”

You nodded in agreement. You still weren’t a hundred percent certain adrenaline wasn’t masking some of your injuries. It was safer to stick together for now. At least until you knew for sure.

“All right,” Dean said as he performed a tactical reload and inserted a full magazine into his pistol. He looked at Sam and added, “You go left up that path. We’ll head toward the main building. Meet us there if it’s clear.”

Sam nodded. “Got it.” You and Dean took a few steps toward the opposite path and Sam began making his way around the pond. 

“Guys,” Sam called out only a few seconds later. “Hold up. Come here.”

You both turned to see him fixated on something in the pond. 

“What is it?” Dean asked gruffly.

But Sam hadn’t taken his eyes off whatever he was watching. “It’s … it’s _her_.”

You rounded the pond and came to stand next to Sam, following his gaze. A wounded butterfly was resting on the edge of a lily pad on the surface of the water. It was clear that one of its Raven colored wings was badly singed, rendering it unable to fly.

A flash of green just over the rock formation at the pond caused your head to jerk up as you trained your eyes on Curtis’s spirit once again. You reached for Dean’s arm, silently getting his attention as he and Sam looked up to see Curtis’s likeness. 

Dean’s face hardened, jaw clenching.

You expected Curtis to intervene again, just as he had in the green house, but he made no attempt to stop Dean when he raised his gun to point in on the wounded butterfly. 

You watched the insect, waiting for the deadly shot of lead and gunpowder to send her to hell where she belonged, but not before a large white and orange spotted Koi fish surfaced and swallowed the butterfly whole, only to sink below the water again.

Mouth gaping, you looked at Sam and Dean in turn. Sam’s brow was raised, Dean’s disbelieving frown frozen on his face.

“Did - did … ” But you couldn’t even finish your statement.

“Did that fish just _eat_ our Gu Sorcerer?” Dean asked on your behalf.

Sam let out a humorless chuckle. “Yeah. I, uh, I think it did.”

Dean cocked his head to the side, glancing at you and then back to where the fish had disappeared under the waterfall. At least ten other Koi fish were visible in the immediate vicinity. There was no way to distinguish the heroic fish from the others.

You all stood around for a moment watching the water expectantly … waiting for what, exactly? _Wen Gu to explode out of a fish?_ The thought alone was testament to how insane the entire situation had become.

And when the green shimmer of Curt’s likeness sizzled and cracked one last time before dissipating into thin air, you had the distinct sense that he was finally at rest. 

Sam shrugged. “Huh…. Well, I guess that’s that.”

The giggle that bubbled up out of you was hysterical, at best.

Dean looked at you in mild concern as he holstered his weapon, his hand coming to rest on the small of your back. You wrapped an arm around his waist and reached over to give Sam’s arm a squeeze. 

Everyone was alive. You’d live to hunt another day.

But the hunt had only been part of the battle because you still had sick kids at the hospital waiting on you.

“We’ve gotta go. Luke’s probably waiting for us at the car with the antidote.”

“How’d you even get here? Uber?” Dean asked.

“Chief Richards lent me her car,” you said, pulling the key fob from your pocket.

Dean swiped it from your palm and held up a finger to silence your protest. “Uh-uh. You’re not driving. Not after that fall.”

He tossed the key fob to Sam who caught it and shrugged in agreement. “He’s right. I’ll drive it back.”

The fire that had climbed the side of the Butterfly House had destroyed most of the greenhouse structure and had run out of good fuel, mostly dwindling out. 

“I’ll throw some water on the parts that are still smoldering and make sure nothing’s going to pick back up,” Sam added, gesturing toward the remnants of the fire. “You two go ahead. Go save Kenny and Dylan. I”ll meet you there.”

You nodded and took a few steps toward the main building before hesitating and turning back around. 

“I’ll find your gun,” Sam added, anticipating your question.

“Thanks,” you told him.

“No problem, Flying Monkey,” Sam added with a little shit-eating grin as he turned to go. 

Dean smiled as you smacked his arm. “It was a little funny,” he added as the two of you headed back toward the parking lot.

“I - I saw smoke. Is everyone okay?” Luke called out as you and Dean approached. He was standing between the Impala and Chief Richards’ car, cradling the wooden box with the antidote in one arm.

“The Mothwoman is no longer going to be a problem,” Dean answered as he unlocked the passenger seat of the Impala and held the door for you to slip inside. “Come on, kid. We’ve gotta save your friends.”

Luke climbed in the backseat and Dean eyed you.

“I’ll get you the kit for that cut,” he told you, going to the truck and returning with the first aid kit, sliding it into the middle of the front seat and climbing in behind the wheel.

Luke handed the antidote up to you as Dean started the car. “What about the other car?” he asked, glancing over his shoulder at the shiny BMW.

“My partner will drive it back. He’ll be right behind us,” Dean answered as he pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road. 

You dabbed at the laceration on your forehead with a piece of gauze and some rubbing alcohol from the first aid kit.

“What about Curt?” Luke asked. “We just left him there. After all this I - I can’t just leave him-”

“Curt’s not trapped at the Butterfly House anymore,” you told him, turning at the waist to look him in the eye where he was sulking in the backseat.

Luke narrowed his eyes at you. “How do you know?”

“He was the first to fall victim to Wen Gu’s poison, and when he died his spirit was forced to remain behind and serve her,” you added. ”Now that Wen Gu is gone, he’s finally free,” you assured him. “I promise.”

You saw Luke’s eyes glisten and he nodded as he wiped at them with the sleeve of his jacket. You hoped maybe one day he’d be able to forgive himself for what had happened. For the things he couldn’t have seen coming.

Dean was casting sideways glances at you as he drove.

“I’m okay,” you assured him. “I don’t think Curtis was trying to hurt me. He was being controlled by Wen Gu, and as a result he had to protect her, but I think more than anything he was trying to get me out of the way.”

When your cut was clean you opened the wooden box again and studied the little vials containing the precious antidote.

“That gonna be enough of it?” Dean asked, glancing at you as he drove.

You answered honestly. “I hope so.”


	15. 15

Leah jumped to her feet in the small waiting room when she saw you and Dean and Luke approaching. 

“Where were you?” Leah asked Luke. “You were here and then you - you just left. I couldn’t find you anywhere and-” 

She looked to be on the verge of hyperventilating, but before you could intervene Dean took her gently by the shoulders, turning her to face him directly and snapping her out of the anxiety-ridden lecture she was laying on Luke. 

“Leah? I need you to take a deep breath,” he instructed, inhaling deeply to encourage her to do the same. Leah followed his prompting and inhaled - albeit it somewhat shakily. Dean gave her a small smile just before you stepped away. You heard him say, “Good. One more. Just like that…. Luke here went with the doctor and I to get the antidote for Kenny. Doc’s going to give it to him now.”

“Antidote?” Leah repeated, her voice full of hope and desperation.

You looked over your shoulder at her long enough to call out, “I’ll be back to update you in a few, okay?”

Leah nodded as you reached Kenny’s door and opened it to step inside.

“Thank God you’re back. I was starting to think something had happened to you,” Chief Richards said as you burst into the room. She looked you up and down and added, “What did happen to you?”

“I’m fine, and it’s a long story,” you answered as you produced a vial containing the antidote. “How is he?” you asked, glancing for yourself at Kenny’s vitals monitor.

“He’s a fighter,” was her response. “Wouldn’t still be here if he wasn’t.”

His heart rate was hovering around 175 beats per minute, which alone was enough information to confirm Kenny’s continuing decline in your absence.

“Is that what I hope it is?” the Chief asked as you went to Kenny’s bedside.

“It is,” you answered, turning to the nurse attending to Kenny. “Can I get a syringe and an 18 gauge needle with some alcohol swabs please?” 

She did as you asked and you drew the antidote into the syringe slowly, making sure to collect every drop. Then you injected the antidote into his IV line and took a step back.

“That’s it?” Chief Richards asked.

“That’s it,” you agreed. “Now we wait. We keep him alive, and we wait.” You took a deep breath and exhaled, watching Kenny’s chest rise and fall with the ventilator as it forced air through his lungs. 

“I was able to reach Kenny’s parents,” the Chief added, drawing your attention.

“They must be worried sick. How did they handle it?”

“They’re completely freaking out. It would be fantastic if this antidote of yours kicks in enough to show some improvement before their flight gets in tomorrow morning.”

You smiled sympathetically. “That’s the hope.”

“Yes. Yes it is,” she agreed. “Do I want to know how you got your hands on this antidote?”

“Honestly, it’s too bad the FBI won’t let me tell you the whole story. It’s something you’d expect to see on the Syfy channel,” you told her with a small smile. “But you should know we found the woman who is responsible for all of this and she won’t be hurting anyone else.”

Chief Richards nodded at you appreciatively. “I’ll sleep better at night knowing that.”

“We all will,” you agreed. “I’m going to go administer a dose to Dylan,” you told her. 

“I’ll stay with Kenny,” she assured you. “And let me know if you need me to take a look at you and that laceration on your forehead.”

You gave her a little one-handed solute in response.

When you walked back out into the waiting room, Leah was standing between Dean and Luke, wringing her hands together anxiously and hyper focused on you as you approached.

“I just gave Kenny the antidote through his IV,” you told her.

“I can’t believe someone tried to poison him,” Leah said, her lower lip trembling. “What if we’re too late? What if he never wakes-”

“Hey now,” Dean cut her off. “We’re not going to think like that. Kenny has what he needs to get better now. I mean, sure, his body has been through a lot, and it might not happen overnight, but you’ve gotta believe he can do this.”

Leah gazed up at Dean with big, watery eyes, but there was hope shining in them, despite her obvious exhaustion. “You really think so?”

“Sure,” Dean said, glancing at you to be certain he wasn’t misleading her. You just smiled and nodded for him, prompting him to continue. 

“But Leah, you’ve gotta help him through it. Kenny’s fit and strong, but even tough guys need a woman by their side to remind them what they’re capable of. To believe in them when they don’t believe it themselves.”

Leah managed a nod, and before Dean could say anything more she threw herself into his arms, hugging him tight for a long moment before she stepped back again.

“You’re right,” she told Dean, straightening and running a hand over her hair to smooth it out. “I’m here for him. And if anyone can do this, it’s Kenny.”

The corner of Dean’s mouth hitched up in a smile and you touched his arm just long enough to draw his gaze to you. 

“Be right back,” you said softly. 

Dylan was sleeping when you walked into his room. 

His sister Nora was sitting in the single chair in the corner, but got to her feet at your sudden appearance.

“How is he?” you asked, eyeing the vitals monitor.

“Not great,” she answered dryly. “He’s talking in his sleep, still going on about something that’s trying to eat him from the inside out.” She watched as you drew up a syringe with the antidote and injected it into Dylan’s IV port. “What’s that?”

“The key to helping him get better,” you told her, dropping the now empty syringe in the sharps bin. You listened to Dylan’s heart and lungs, slinging the stethoscope around your neck again and saying, “I expect him to start improving very soon.”

She nodded at you, her relief evident in the new-found softness in her expression.

Sam had arrived and was standing with Dean when you walked back out. Dean was just getting off the phone with the Sheriff, wrapping up the conversation as you approached.

“What did you tell the Sheriff?” you asked him.

“Where to find the loose floorboards in the office with the snakes and scorpions and shit,” Dean answered. “Nice of our Sorcerer to have pics of the victims tucked away in there, too. Good clean evidence trail there.”

“We had to let them think she started the fire as a means of getting away from us and managed to escape,” Sam added. “But they’re going to plaster her face all over the news and social media, which means they can be fairly certain she wouldn’t show her face around here again.”

“Sheriff seemed relieved to know it’s mostly over, and that the kids might make it after all,” Dean added. “Speaking of the antidote … are we too late? I mean, do you think we got it in time to help either of them?”

“I do,” you answered honestly. “I still think the envenoming was one part of the puzzle, and the antivenom may have bought us some time. Now that we have the antidote to the Gu Poison, they have a fighting chance. Dylan could show improvements fairly quickly. Of course, his symptoms haven’t progressed nearly to the extent Kenny’s have.”

“And Kenny?” Sam asked.

You followed his gaze over to the couch where Luke was sitting with Leah, offering quiet words of encouragement.

“He’s in critical condition,” you stated. 

“It’s impossible to know at this point if he’ll suffer any lasting damage due to the effects of the venom and the spell. Just have to just hope for the best and wait it out. I’m glad his parents are on their way.”

“What kind of heartless bitch messes up a bunch of kids like that?” Dean muttered, jaw clenching.

Sam shrugged. “Well, she’s fish food now, so….”

Dean wiped at his face with a hand. “Yeah, well, poetic as that ending was, I still would have liked the opportunity to torch her ass.”

Luke had gotten to his feet and was walking toward you all then. 

“I wouldn’t have had time to find the antidote without you,” you told him as he reached you. “I certainly couldn’t have provided the friendly distraction you did.”

Luke gave you a sad smile that didn’t reach his eyes, prompting Dean to add his two cents.

“Whatever guilt you’ve been packing about getting your friends into this mess, you more than made up for it tonight, kid." 

He gave Luke a friendly pat on the shoulder.

Luke surveyed the three of you with a keen eye. “You guys aren’t FBI, are you?” he asked, voice low enough to prevent eavesdropping from passersby.

“We, uh, we’re a special branch in the bureau,” Sam tried. “Takes years of extra training and long nights with your nose in a book to qualify.”

“And the field tests,” Dean elaborated dramatically. “The field tests are hell.”

“Literally hell,” Sam added, trying not to smile.

“Sounds awful,” Luke said slowly. “Well, at least they pay you well. I mean that muscle car you drive is sick.”

Dean cocked his head to the side. "Yeah, well, we’ve got all we need." 

He gave you a wink and your smile in return made Luke gaze between you both, no doubt picking up on the real chemistry between you and Dean. Luke opened his mouth to comment, but Dean interrupted before he could ask if the Bureau let you date your partner. “When was the last time you ate something, huh?”

Luke paused, mouth gaping slightly. “I, uh, I don’t know…. Why?”

Dean pulled his wallet from his back pocket, and in the most absolute dad-like gesture you’d ever seen from him - with anyone other than Sam, that is, - he pulled a crisp twenty out and offered it to Luke. “Here. Take Leah down to the cafeteria and grab yourselves a bite.”

Luke hesitated, brow furrowing. When he glanced at you questioningly you just smiled and shrugged. Dean lightly slapped the twenty to Luke’s chest, forcing Luke to take it from him. 

“Uh … thanks?”

“Go on,” Dean added, hands on his hips. “Make sure she eats something.” Luke obediently turned on his heels but Dean called out one more time to him. “You did good, kid.”

Luke glanced back and the corner of his mouth hitched up into a more genuine half-smile before he collected Leah and led her down the hall.

Sam was blatantly staring at his big brother with an amused sort of grin plastered on his face.

Dean looked startled by the reaction. “What?” 

Sam shook his head. “Nothing. Just wondering if I could get a twenty, too. And maybe a ride to the mall?”

“Okay, smart ass,” Dean muttered, making Sam snort.

You were biting back a laugh as you looked down at your feet, trying to compose yourself.

“I get no damn respect around here,” Dean grumbled as he turned. And you couldn’t hold it in any longer, covering your mouth with your hands and snickering. 

Dean paused in his footsteps for just a heartbeat, saying, “Okay, yeah. I heard it that time. But you both still suck.”

Sam chuckled and fell into step behind you as you caught up to Dean, playfully bumping his shoulder with your own and saying, “It was sweet of you.” And despite your giggling, you meant it.

Dean eyed you as you walked alongside him, but after only a moment’s hesitation he wrapped his arm around your shoulders and pulled you close enough to leave a quick kiss on your forehead, wary of the cut there.

“All those poor butterflies,” you said as you walked. “All the smoke and flames…. Wonder if any of them made it out of the greenhouse structure before it was too late?”

“Most of ‘em, if not all,” Dean said. “I propped the door open - and they didn’t make it easy, what with all the flapping and fluttering around my head.”

You smiled and kissed his cheek. “Dean Winchester - Butterfly Whisperer. Has a nice ring to it, don’t you think?”

Sam chuckled while Dean gave him a half-hearted bitch face that did nothing to dim the light in those green eyes of his.

“Whatever,” Sam said. “Just getting soft in your old age.”


	16. 16

Sam and Dean headed to the motel to clean up while you opted to use the doctor’s lounge to take a quick shower and change into something a little more professional, donning your white coat and your temporary hospital ID badge. 

Standing under the hot water in the shower gave you an opportunity to take stock of your scrapes and bruises from being thrown through the green house. Your right shoulder was sore as hell, and a bruise with vibrant shades of red and purple was taking shape there, along with the side of your rib cage from what you could only assume involved your not-so-graceful landing in the dirt.

Soreness aside, you felt a little better after getting clean, and after quickly drying your hair you headed back upstairs to check on your patients.

You spent the next several hours closely monitoring Kenny, but, to your great relief, his heart rate was gradually slowing toward a more normal pace on its own. The bouts of arrhythmia had cleared up completely by the time Sam and Dean returned around six o’clock in the morning.

Kenny’s parents, Mr. and Mrs. Barnes, arrived at the hospital a short while later, and you and Chief Richards spent a considerable amount of time updating them and Leah on the course of treatment and what you could share about how Kenny had been made ill by coming into contact with a woman at the nature reserve who had poisoned him and at least two of his friends.

You encouraged them to be cautiously optimistic about their son’s prognosis. They were visibly shaken at seeing their son in an unresponsive state in ICU, but they managed to collect themselves and put on brave faces. Mrs. Barnes even returned to the waiting room to hug Leah and thank her for being there for Kenny when they couldn’t be.

Luke had chosen to stay, as well, still hoping for the best for his two sick friends and giving Leah a shoulder to lean on while they waited.

Dylan, on the other hand, was fully conscious and responding by noon the next day. When the nurse came to update you she reported that he’d even expressed that he was hungry and was asking for a meal.

Sam and Dean asked questions while you listened to Dylan’s heart and lungs and combed through his latest lab results. His respiratory and circulatory symptoms were already showing improvement in the short time since he’d been given the antidote, and you expected he’d made a full recovery.

As suspected, Dylan had been to visit Wen Gu exactly ten days before he started exhibiting symptoms. And he hadn’t gone back after his initial visit, so he hadn’t received the antidote like Luke had.

He and Nora were both appalled and shocked at the news that Wen had actually been poisoning people. With Dylan’s continuing improvement, Nora had mostly returned to her snarky teenage attitude, except now you could see right through it, and she didn’t try to hide the gratitude in her eyes when you spoke with her. She was, however, hell bent on plastering Wen Gu’s face all over her Instagram account to “make sure no one ever trusts that bitch again.”

You couldn’t tell them Wen Gu was dead. That she’d literally been swallowed by a Koi fish while in her butterfly form. But they seemed to accept it when Dean promised they’d be more likely to see hell freeze over than to have a run in with Ms. Gu again.

“How did you figure it all out?” Dylan asked as he enthusiastically reached for a fork after his food tray was placed before him.

“Luke,” you answered.  
  


Dylan blinked, frowning thoughtfully. “Thank God. I don’t remember a whole lot about being brought in before, but I’m fairly certain I wasn’t making much sense. I’ll have to give him a call.”

“Luke’s here,” you added. 

“He’s here now?”

You nodded. “He’s out in the waiting room with Leah. I can grab him if you’d like.”

“Absolutely. Thanks.”

Nora followed you out and sat to visit with Leah while you told Luke that Dylan was asking to see him. Luke seemed all at once relieved and anxious, but when you watched him open the door to Dylan’s room and heard Dylan promise Luke that he wasn’t going to be rid of him so easily, Luke’s laugh held none of the heavy weight you knew he’d been carrying at having unknowingly led his friends into harm’s way.

Chief Richards found you and Sam and Dean there in the waiting room and motioned for you to step into the hall with her.

“We can’t thank you enough for your help,” she said, including each of you with a glance. “I’m not going to ask what it was that prompted the federal government to take an interest in what started out with one sick boy, but whatever the reason, I’m grateful they sent the three of you. 

"I wish we could have saved Curtis, and I’ll carry that - just like we carry all of those we can’t save on our shoulders for the rest of our days - but there are two families whose stories would have ended very differently without you.”

“Glad we could help,” Dean said modestly. “I hope Kenny pulls through.”

“We all do,” she agreed. Then she turned directly to you and said, “That leads me to my next point.”

You waited expectantly for whatever was to come.

“You have done everything you can for Kenny and Dylan. Kenny’s road back may be a bit bumpy with all he went through, but he’s on the right track. And you? Well, you need to get some sleep and get out of this place before I’m tempted to force you to stay permanently.” Her half-smile made you return the gesture in full. “Go,” she added. “Get some food in you. For God’s sake get some rest. And I’ll keep you posted on Kenny and Dylan’s progress. I have your number.”

Your heart wanted to argue, to insist that you could stay just a little longer. See Kenny through another day. But your body was telling you differently. You hadn’t slept. And you certainly hadn’t eaten anything substantial since arriving at the hospital yesterday afternoon. And Dr. Richards was right. You’d done all you could do. She could take it from here. Kenny and Dylan were in good hands.

Dean pulled into the first burger joint you saw and you all ordered lunch to go. He and Sam had checked out of the motel early this morning before joining you back at the hospital, and after punishing your burger and fries while Dean drove, you were anxious to sleep in your own bed back at the bunker.

That didn’t stop you from zonking out in the passenger seat within five minutes of finishing your meal. You slept until Dean gently shook your shoulder to rouse you two hours later, finding you were parked in the bunker’s garage.

“Feels good to be home,” you said with a smile as you climbed out of the car.

Sam was already opening up the trunk. Dean tossed your duffel to you, and you caught it just before a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your chest and radiated into your right shoulder. A sort of muffled squeak escaped your throat as you froze in place, the duffel falling from your hands and landing with a thud on the garage floor.

The combination of sounds caught Dean’s attention and he turned to glance at you, presumably watching the color drain from your face. 

“Sweetheart? Hey….”

Heat flashed along your skin as your knees went weak. You didn’t have time to waste. You sucked in a breath, despite the sudden fire in your chest. “Do you remember what I taught you … about treating a collapsed lung?”

“Wait, what?” Dean had dropped his own duffel now and was taking a step toward you, prompting Sam to do the same.

Trying to stay calm as you instinctively clutched at your chest, you added, “Also, when someone faints you have to maintain their airway … and position them on their side.” The pain seared through the right side of your chest cavity like a hot slicing dagger. “You’ve got about three seconds before I …” Your voice faded as your knees gave out and an all-consuming darkness filled your vision.


	17. 17

_**Previously:** _

**  
** _“Feels good to be home,” you said with a smile as you climbed out of the car._ **  
**

_Sam was already opening up the trunk. Dean tossed your duffel to you, and you caught it just before a sharp, stabbing pain shot through your chest and radiated into your right shoulder. A sort of muffled squeak escaped your throat as you froze in place, the duffel falling from your hands and landing with a thud on the garage floor._

_The combination of sounds caught Dean’s attention and he turned to glance at you, presumably watching the color drain from your face. “Sweetheart? Hey….”_

_Heat flashed along your skin as your knees went weak. You didn’t have time to waste. You sucked in a breath, despite the sudden fire in your chest. “Do you remember what I taught you … about treating a collapsed lung?”_

_“Wait, what?” Dean had dropped his own duffel now and was taking a step toward you, prompting Sam to do the same._

_Trying to stay calm as you instinctively clutched at your chest, you added, “Also, when someone faints you have to maintain their airway … and position them on their side.” The pain seared through the right side of your chest cavity like a hot slicing dagger. “You’ve got about three seconds before I …” Your voice faded as your knees gave out and an all-consuming darkness filled your vision._

**Chapter 17**

Dean barely caught you before you hit the ground. “Whoa, hey, hey!” Dean exclaimed, gently lowering you the rest of the way to the garage floor to take a look at you. He patted your cheek with a palm, trying to rouse you. “Come on, sweetheart….”

Sam was on his knees next to him now. “Did - did she say her lung is collapsing?”

Dean leaned in close enough to feel for your breath against his cheek. “She’s breathing. I - I don’t know…. It can’t be collapsing, can it? When yours - you didn’t black out like this…. She was fine. We’ve been driving for hours and she’s been fine.”

“I’ll at least grab the med kit.”

“No. Let’s get her to the infirmary.” 

Dean gathered you into his arms and carried you to the infirmary as Sam opened doors along the way. Dean half-sat on the exam table, holding you while Sam helped him remove your jacket. Then he gently laid you down and tilted your chin, leaning down close to your face. In the cold silence of the infirmary Dean could hear a soft wheezing noise when you breathed.

He glanced around quickly, spotting one of your stethoscopes a few feet away. He hurried to snatch it up, putting the earpieces in and holding the bell to your chest. He moved it around for a few seconds, listening intently.

Sam rubbed his hands together anxiously. “Well?”

“Shhh…. I - I can’t … ” Dean didn’t know what he was listening for exactly. Lack of sounds, maybe? God, one of these days he really needed you to teach him a little something about how to actually use a stethoscope. You were still breathing, so something had to be working. He started comparing sides for lack of a better plan, and that’s when he knew.

“Don’t sound right,” Dean confirmed, setting the stethoscope aside. “Her right lung is messed up. Grab one of those finger monitors.” Dean pulled a knife from the waistband of his jeans and began cutting up the center of your shirt, hesitant to jostle you around more than was strictly necessary. 

“I think she keeps ‘em over here.” Sam began opening drawers one at a time in search of a pulse ox clip. When he found one he hurried back over, taking your left hand in his and securing the clip to your index finger.

Dean finished removing your t-shirt and hesitated only briefly before deciding there was no way he could accurately feel and count your ribs through your bra. He quickly cut that off, too. Sam tossed him your jacket to keep you mostly covered with.

“What’s the reading say?” Dean asked.

“Uh … her pulse is 110. Oxygen is 89%.”

“Shit.” Dean wracked his brain, trying to recall what he’d learned from your cliff notes. “I think anything below 90% is bad news.” And the wheezing sound you made when you breathed was getting exponentially worse. 

Dean threw open a cupboard and grabbed a needle and syringe, along with some alcohol wipes.

“Do you really remember what to do?” Sam asked as Dean disinfected your skin and attached the needle to an empty syringe.

“Yeah, of course.” Dean’s confident answer and the way he began feeling between your ribs with his fingertips was pretty damn convincing. “Second rib … third rib. Now right in between there….” he muttered to himself as he double-checked he was in the right spot. 

Then he uncapped the needle with his teeth and angled it over your third rib, piercing the skin and sliding it deep into position at a ninety degree angle. Just like you’d taught him. Just like he wasn’t scared absolutely shitless.

He took a deep breath, pulling the plunger from the syringe and fully expecting a hiss of air to escape your chest cavity. But the hiss of air never came. Instead, blood poured from the syringe, spilling onto Dean’s boots.

“Oh god…. She’s bleeding on the inside.” Panic rose like bile in his throat. He’d gotten the needle placement right - he was sure of it - but he didn’t know enough about what else could be going on that would lead to you bleeding like that. Let alone how to fix the problem. 

“That’s, uh - that’s not … ” Sam couldn’t even form a complete sentence as he watched blood spill from the syringe.

Dean ’s eyes darted around the infirmary as he surveyed his surroundings. Then he gave a decisive nod. He knew what had to be done. And there was no time to waste.

He grabbed a metal basin from the rolling cart and carried it over, holding it beneath the syringe in your chest and collecting blood as it trickled out. Sam didn’t have the faintest idea that Dean’s intention with the basin was to do more than prevent a bigger mess until Dean turned - basin in hand - and sat it down on the cart.

“Throw a towel down so you don’t slip on that,” Dean told Sam.

Sam blinked at him before eyeing the blood that continued to drip onto the floor from the needle in your chest. “Shouldn’t we - I don’t know …” He grabbed a towel and dropped it onto the floor where blood was still draining. Then he pressed two fingers to your wrist, feeling your pulse and glancing at the clip on your finger. “Shit… She’s losing a lot of blood. What type is she? Can I give her some of mine?”

“I’m sure she’d appreciate the sentiment, Sammy,” Dean said as he hitched up one sleeve and pulled his blade from its sheath in his belt again. “Unfortunately you’re not a match. I, on the other hand, would love to take you up on that offer.”

Dean drew the sharp edge of his blade across his arm, slicing the surface of the skin and causing his blood to run down and collect in the basin, mixing with yours.

“Whoa, hey! Dean, what the hell are you-”

“Take it easy, Sammy. It’s just a spell.”

But Sam was even more confused by that revelation. “Spell?”

Dean’s voice was cool and collected as he nodded at his brother. “Just a little something to get my girl back on her feet.” He wrapped a cloth tight around his arm to stop the bleeding, using his teeth to help tie it in place.

Sam blinked at him, baffled. “What did you mean you’d take me up on my offer to give blood?” Sam’s words slowed as comprehension dawned on him. “Tell me you’re not going to do something crazy like - like trading places with her.” But Dean wouldn’t look at him then, which was all the confirmation Sam needed. “Dean! What the hell? You can’t just go and-”

Dean rounded on him, and it was clear he was dangerously close to losing the cool and collected front he was trying to maintain. “I don’t have a choice, Sam. Look at her! Whatever this is, it could kill her. I’m not a freaking doctor. So unless you think you can blindly do surgery and fix whatever the hell is wrong, or trust that an ambulance can get here in time to stop her bleeding out … “ Dean didn’t finish his sentence, picking up the edge-worn paper he’d pulled from his wallet and reciting an incantation instead.

Every instinct in Sam was screaming at him to stop his brother, but Sam was literally caught in the middle of an impossible situation. He tried to focus on the fact that you’d know how to help Dean if the spell worked. He repeated that mantra in his mind twice before the sound of his brother’s voice called him back to reality.

“Pull that out,” Dean barked, gesturing with a jerk of his chin toward the needle still embedded in your chest. “Do it now!”

Sam slid the needle out and tossed the syringe in the sink. When he turned back Dean was dropping something in the bowl. 

There was an immediate sizzle of smoke and sparks, followed by a few seconds where neither one of them breathed in anticipation.

Dean had the forethought to move toward the closest sick bed just before the coming onslaught of pain had him gasping and doubling over.

Sam was at his side in a heartbeat, hand on his shoulder, helping him to sit down on the bed and steadying him. "Dean! Hold on, okay?”

Sam looked quickly over his shoulder, hoping for a sign that you were coming to. That maybe this ridiculous plan of his brother’s was at least going to bring you back. 

But you were still out cold, and Dean was curling in on himself with pain.


	18. 18

You gasped and sat up with a start, surprised to find yourself on the exam table in the infirmary. Your jacket was laying on top of you to cover you, and beneath it you we’re topless. You clutched it to you, only then noticing the pulse ox monitor clipped to your finger.

And then it all started flooding back. Everything that had happened before you’d blacked out. 

Dean had tossed you your duffel in the garage, but when you’d caught it you’d felt a sharp sensation in your chest and up into your shoulder, followed by pain when you breathed. 

You’d been certain you had a pneumothorax, an indirect response to the blunt force of being thrown through the green house structure last night, and later brought on by the jarring action of catching your duffel bag. 

You’d reminded Dean that he knew how to fix it before you’d fainted, which he’d obviously done since you felt considerably better now. 

As the fog fully lifted from your brain you realized Sam was calling Dean’s name from somewhere behind you. You turned to find him hovering over Dean who was lying on one of the sick beds. Whatever was happening, it couldn’t be good.

“Guys? Hey!”

Sam glanced over his shoulder at you, a look of relief washing over his features at seeing that you were conscious.

“I need your help,” he pleaded. “Dean … he - he did a spell.”

“A spell?” You pulled your jacket on and zipped it up, confused by the bloody towel on the floor as you stepped over it to reach them. Dean was gasping and groaning in pain. He’d been fine before you’d blacked out. You couldn’t imagine what was wrong. “Dean!” 

“Can’t … can’t bre-” But a fit of coughing prevented Dean from finishing the sentence.

“Easy now,” You gripped his shoulder and looked to Sam for an explanation. “What kind of spell?”

“I don’t know exactly. Whatever was wrong with you, Dean took it upon himself.”

“He _what_?” _No, no, no. God, no…._ “Samuel Winchester, why on earth would you let him-”

“You were bleeding internally,” Sam urged. “We didn’t know what to do. He tried to use a needle to remove the air in your chest.”

“What do you mean tried?”

“It didn’t work,” Sam insisted. “Instead of air coming back through the syringe, it was blood. _So much blood…._ That’s when he started mixing up spell ingredients instead.” 

You followed Sam’s gaze to the blood on the floor, horror gripping your heart at the implication. 

“Hurts….” Dean managed, struggling to catch his breath. He’d done this so you could work to save him, and not the other way around. Because you’d obviously scared the hell out of him.

“I’ve got you, Winchester,” you told him as you raised the head of the bed to 45 degrees, propping him up. “You brave, brave idiot.” You made a quick adjustment to the portable oxygen tank nearby and fitted a non-rebreather mask on his face. “Here, this should help.” You made quick work of his t-shirt with a pair of scissors, noting the way his chest wasn’t expanding fully on the right.

Sam offered you your stethoscope before you could ask for it, and you realized as you put it on that he and Dean might have done this exact thing with you only moments ago. “Are you okay?” Sam asked, turning his concerned gaze your direction. “That blood on the floor? That’s all yours. I just want to make sure you’re okay.” 

You glanced at the bloody towel again. There really was a lot of blood… To your relief it was dark red, signifying it had come from a vein and not an artery, which would have been so, so much worse. You nodded in answer. “Whatever the spell was, it must have worked.”

You placed the bell of your stethoscope on Dean’s chest. Just as you suspected, there were no audible breath sounds from his right lung. His heart rate was rapid, his breathing growing more shallow and labored as his one good lung struggled to do the work of two.

Those signs, paired with the knowledge that the needle Dean had used on you had aspirated blood rather than air meant it wasn’t a pneumothorax you were dealing with, but a hemothorax. Blood was collecting in his Dean’s chest and compressing his right lung. 

And that was a whole new level of nasty and complicated. 

With a pang, you realized that Dean had been right to wish for you to handle the situation. He didn’t have the knowledge or the skill set to handle this. You’d never have condoned him taking your injury on himself like he’d done. But that was just Dean. Self-sacrificing and stubborn as hell. 

And you loved him for it, even if you hated that he’d done this to himself.

You gestured for Sam, barking out orders. “I need you to pull that monitor over here. Plug it in and get the pulse ox clip and BP cuff on him.” 

You used the scissors again, this time to cut Dean’s jeans off of him. When you finished, Sam had done as you’d asked and you set to work attaching monitor patches and electrodes to Dean’s chest. Dean’s heart rate was 119 beats per minute, but the rhythm was mostly regular - save for a few PVCs. His blood pressure was 100/60, respirations showing at 30 a minute, and his pulse ox was 87%. 

“Hang on for me, honey,” you told Dean, hating the slight panic reflecting in his green eyes as he struggled to breathe. 

“Doc,” he managed. You cupped his cheek with a hand to show him you were listening, noticing the way his skin was beginning to feel cool and clammy. “If this … goes south-”

“No,” you interrupted. “You don’t get to do that, Winchester.”

He clutched at the oxygen mask with a hand, pulling it down away from his face. “As long as … you’re safe….”

“Dean-”

“I mean it … ” But a fit of coughing cut him off again and you moved the mask back in place for him.

“Shhh…. Try not to talk. It’s enough work just breathing right now, okay? And I told you, I’ve got you.”

Dean’s face scrunched up in what you could only imagine was a searing jolt of pain that rendered him speechless.

“Just keep breathing. In and out,” you coached. “There you go, big guy.” You pulled your phone from your pocket and opened the app for your portable wireless ultrasound, grabbing the transducer from it’s charging station on the counter.

Squeezing the bottle of conductive gel until a blob fell onto Dean’s skin, you used the ultrasound transducer to spread the gel, studying the images on your phone’s screen as you went. 

Dean was having a hard time holding still due to the pain, but even with his coughing fits and jerking motions the diagnosis soon became clear. Ultrasound confirmed a large collection of fluid with complete collapse of his right lung. 

You knew what you needed to do, even though the idea of having to do it here in the infirmary freaked you the hell out.


	19. 19

“What do you see?” Sam asked as you set aside the ultrasound transducer. He stood there next to the bed, watching Dean struggle to breath. The lilt in his voice suggested he was more than a little afraid of the answer. **  
**

But it was ride or die. It always was with the Winchesters. So you put on your best doctor-mode game face and looked to Dean, including Sam with a quick glance.

“There’s blood pooling in the space around your right lung,” you stated. “I have to put in a chest tube to drain it.”

Dean coughed and then sucked in a breath, nodding. “Do it.”

Sam ran a hand through his hair, taking a second to process the information. “What can I do to help?”

Your mind raced as you ran through a checklist of supplies in your head. You had most of what you needed. But not everything. ”I need something to collect fluid and create a vacuum with…. Like - like a couple of jars or tall glasses we can seal air tight.”

Sam glanced around the infirmary. “I’m on it.”

“Hurry,” you called after him as he jogged out of the room. You were incredibly relieved that he seemed to have a plan for what you needed. You gathered supplies and set them out quickly, looking up just as Sam returned with a set of tall protein shaker cups. You recognized them from the overabundance he’d collected in a cupboard in the mess hall over the years. He also had a roll of plastic wrap tucked under one arm. 

Using the tubing you’d collected, the two of you quickly worked to create an underwater sealed drain system. The first attempt with the plastic wrap failed to hold the seal tight, but Sam jumped up to retrieve a few Nitrile gloves from the box nearby, replacing the plastic wrap over the cups with the gloves instead. 

Within a few minutes you had a makeshift system rigged to help drain the blood from Dean’s chest with a seal to allow his lungs to function properly. You arranged the two-cup contraction on the floor next to the sick bed. Although Sam had helped you throw it together in an impressive amount of time, Dean’s vitals were quickly declining. 

You gestured for Sam to follow you and took a few steps away from the bed, lowering your voice so only he could hear you. “You’re going to have to hold him down so I don’t do more damage in the process. Can you do that for me?”

Sam nodded decisively “Yeah. I’ve got him.” 

You told him what position you needed Dean in. Quick on his feet, Sam improvised by pulling a strap from the nearby backboard, using it to secure Dean to the bed at waist level. 

You didn’t see Dean’s reaction as you gathered supplies, but whatever the look on his face, Sam obviously felt the need to explain himself as he worked. 

“I’ve got you,” Sam told him. “You’ve just gotta hold still. We can’t have you hurting yourself while she fixes you up, okay?“ Dean wheezed, struggling to draw in air as Sam helped position him for the procedure. "And this arm has to go up here like this,” Sam added as he continued. “I’m going to tie your wrist to the frame here to hold it in place for her to work.”

You glanced at Dean’s monitor again. His pulse ox was 85% now, and his heart rate continued to rise while his blood pressure dropped.

Sam eyed the instruments you’d laid out on your supply tray, his gaze lingering on the scalpel. 

He moved around to the other side of the bed, placing a firm hand on Dean’s left shoulder. He did his best to hold him still as you worked to sterilize and prep Dean’s skin. 

Once finished, you hooked the closest rolling stool with your shoe and pulled it over, sitting down. You opened a package of sterile gloves, pulling them on one at a time. 

Scalpel in one hand, you used the other to palpate and identify the 5th intercostal space in Dean’s rib cage. You took a deep breath, looking up at Sam to check that he was ready. Sam doubled his efforts by leaning into the pressure he was using to keep Dean still.

Dean’s green eyes locked on yours and you paused for a beat.

“I won’t lie to you, Winchester. This is going to hurt like hell.” 

Dean managed a nod, trusting you completely.

With practiced precision and steady pressure, you made a 3 inch vertical incision. 

Dean grunted but held surprisingly still as you sliced into his skin; a testament to his resolve and his threshold for pain.

“Hold on for me, honey,” you said to him. “Just keep breathing, okay? It’ll be over soon.”

But you knew the incision wouldn’t be the worst of it. You set the scalpel down and picked up the forceps, using them to open and widen the hole you’d made in his chest. 

When Dean jerked and gasped, you had to take a breath and refocus, willing your hands not to shake. He needed your Doctor mode. Needed it now as bad as he ever had.

Sliding a gloved finger into the pleural cavity, you gently swept the area, pushing his lung back away from the hole to protect it.

Dean’s strangled cry cut straight to your heart just as sharp as any scalpel.

Trying to mentally block out the sound of your husband’s agonized cries was one of the hardest things you’d ever done. But you were determined to save him.

Using a curved clamp, you slowly advanced the catheter inside his chest cavity through the incision site.

“I’m so sorry,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. You were fairly certain Dean didn’t hear you. Not over the sound of his own grunting, wheezing and whimpering. And that was before you noticed the desperate tears streaming down the side of his face around the oxygen mask while he struggled to draw in air.

Dean was completely beside himself with pain. Sam fought to hold his shoulders flat against the bed, the only thing preventing him from writhing.

“It’s gonna be okay, Dean,” Sam said, though the sheer panic in his tone did little to sell his reassurances. “I know it hurts, man…. You’re doing great. Just - just hang on.”

You were certain Dean had never been so miserable in all of the time you’d known him, just as you knew you’d never be able to get that image of him out of your head. Even if you lived to be a hundred.

Dean grunted, made one last pathetic effort against Sam’s hold on him, and went eerily and utterly silent as you felt all the tension leave his body. 

“Dean? Hey, Dean!” Sam called out, desperately patting his brother’s cheek in an attempt to rouse him. 

But a glance at the monitors confirmed what you knew to be true. What you’d been silently praying for.

“It’s okay, Sam. He’s blacked out from the pain,” you assured him. “I just need you to keep his airway open by tilting his head back a little.”

Sam took a shaky breath and let it out with a huff, gently cradling Dean’s head between trembling hands and tilting his chin up. 

Small puffs of Dean’s breath fogged up the inside of the mask and you could hear wheezing sounds as his one functioning lung drew in air. You watched the monitor just long enough to quickly track his respirations.

“Good, Sam. That’s perfect.” You re-positioned the clamp on the tube, slowly advancing it into his chest cavity. “Can you do something else for me? Check his pupils….”

Sam raised Dean’s eyelids one after another. “They - they look normal.”

“Good. That’s good.” You continued positioning the tube while Sam ran his hand over Dean’s hair in a gesture that did more to divert his own nervous energy than anything else.

And then, because Sam still looked thoroughly freaked out by Dean’s unresponsiveness, you added, “It’s really better this way, Brawny…. Hell, if we’re really lucky, he might stay unconscious long enough for me to finish up here.”


	20. 20

Once you were confident that your placement of the catheter in Dean’s chest was correct, you clamped the tube with a curved hemostat before attaching it to the makeshift drain system you and Sam had rigged up. **  
**

You pulled on a new set of sterile gloves and continued working, suturing the incision closed and the tubing in place, all the while beyond grateful that Dean was blissfully unconscious which allowed you to work quickly.

The room was silent except for the beeping of his heart monitor as you placed gauze and a transparent dressing over the site to keep it clean before connecting the tube to the catheter. 

You released the clamp, watching for the swinging of the water in the tube connection that confirmed the vacuum seal was intact. 

As blood slowly began draining into the first shaker cup on the floor, air was transferred from that cup to the second, creating little bubbles in the water at the bottom when Dean exhaled. 

“It’s working,” Sam observed, relief evident in his voice as he looked up at you.

“That’s because you’re a genius, Brawny,” you said, peeling off your gloves to toss them in the trash.

Removing the blood from Dean’s chest with a tube was an effective solution, but it was also a process. It would take some time for his lung to have adequate space to function at full capacity again.

You went to the drawer to retrieve a Guedel - an airway assist device in the form of a short tube - carrying a few sizes back with you and measuring to select the appropriate size.

“This will secure his airway while he’s unconscious,” you told Sam.

Sam reluctantly released Dean’s head and got to his feet, watching as you carefully opened Dean’s mouth and gently inserted the soft, slightly curved PVC tube upside down. Once you made contact with the back of his throat, you rotated it 180 degrees. You straightened the oxygen mask over Dean’s mouth and nose once again, watching as his breath fogged up the plastic. Your next priority was gaining IV access.

Sam stood by in supportive silence as he watched you work. “I want to give him my blood,” he said, eyes trained on the vitals monitor. “Will that help his blood pressure come back up?”

You nodded. “It should, yes. He’s lucky you’re the same type.” You grabbed a light blanket to cover Dean and sent Sam to the mess hall to retrieve a carton of orange juice from the fridge. Once you’d given Dean something to manage his pain when he awoke, you freed his right arm from the restraint and gathered supplies from the cupboards yet again. 

Setting up a system that would collect and help transfer blood from one brother to the other took a little longer than you’d hoped. With the added complication of having to prevent the blood from clotting during the process, you had to have it exactly right. 

Sam returned while you were still working and offered you the carton of O.J.. You saw that he’d also retrieved a jar of peanut butter and a couple of spoons.

“Hang onto that. It’s for you,” you told him, gesturing to the sick bed closest to the one Dean occupied. “There’s another monitor just there. Do what you can to hook yourself up to it and I’ll do the rest.” You set to work getting a line in Dean’s right arm for the transfusion. 

Sam obeyed without hesitation. He sat the peanut butter and spoons down and went to the other sick bed, sitting propped up with a couple of pillows against the headboard. 

He pulled the monitor over to plug it in and attach the finger clip and blood pressure cuff on himself. 

It was quiet for a few minutes, save for the soft beeping of the monitors - two now that Sam was wired up.

“Should he be awake by now?” Sam asked as you finished up with the line in Dean’s arm.

“Hard to say. Might take a bit before he comes to.” 

You wheeled your rolling cart over to situate yourself between the two sick beds. “You know, I was afraid back when I bought these two monitors that I was jinxing myself.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I never wanted occasion to use both of them at the same time.”

“Yeah, well….” Sam cocked his head, glancing at Dean’s unmoving form in the next bed over. “Obviously it was a good call.”

You put a small pillow next to him and gestured for him to straighten his arm and rest it on the pillow for you. You pulled on a fresh set of gloves while glancing at Sam’s monitor to be sure the connections were all working and for a baseline read on his blood pressure, and then you wrapped a tourniquet loosely above his elbow. You quickly palpated for the vein you wanted to access and disinfected the skin.

“Holy hell, Brawny …”

Sam narrowed his eyes at you. “What? What is it?”

“Nothing. It’s just that sometimes I forget how amazing your veins are.” You smiled at him. Sam rolled his eyes, his mouth hitching up at the corner while you tightened the tourniquet. “Makes my job easier,” you said as you skillfully slid a hypodermic needle into the vein. 

You weren’t lying. It was an easy stick, and trying to distract Sam and yourself with a little humor was a habit you’d picked up from Dean. 

The small tube filled as Sam’s blood traveled to the center of your contraption to collect in a canister. From there, it mixed with your solution in a bottle before continuing on through the next tube and into the vein in Dean’s arm.

“What’s in the bottle?” Sam asked, referring to the clear liquid in the canister connecting the tube in his arm to the one in Dean’s.

“Sodium citrate,” you answered. “Keeps the blood from clotting.”

Sam gave you an impressed nod. “They teach you how to set this up in med school?”

“The Men of Letters have pretty comprehensive medical texts. I read up on this exact set up for direct transfusion in one of them. This method was used in World War II.” You shrugged. “It’s a bit archaic, but effective.”

“World War II….” Sam shook his head in mild disbelief. “Well, hell….” He bit his lip, looking over at Dean.

You narrowed your eyes at him. “What?”

“I’m just having a hard time being pissed at him for what he did after seeing you do all this. He - he was right. It’s just … ”

“Infuriating?” you offered, earning a smile.

Sam sighed. “Exactly. But you’ve still got it, you know? He knew it. He knew you’d figure it out and do whatever it takes to save him.“

"Wish all that made me feel better about seeing him like this,” you said, gesturing with a jerk of your chin towards Dean’s unconscious form. “Tell me if you start to feel faint, dizzy, nauseated, hot or cold flashes, that sort of thing,” you added as you secured the needle with some tape. 

You handed Sam the carton of O.J. and he nodded, accepting it with his free hand and raising it like he was toasting before taking a big swig. 

You checked all the tubing running from Sam to the canister to Dean, and then put on your stethoscope and listened thoroughly to Dean’s chest again. 

His O2 was up to 88%. He wasn’t out of the woods yet by any means, but it was a little progress. You wished he’d open his eyes now that you’d given him something for the pain.

You washed your hands, scrubbing thoroughly with soap. Then you opened up the jar of peanut butter, popped the first spoonful into your mouth, and grabbed the other spoon for Sam.

But when you glanced over Sam’s eyes were closed, his head slowly lolling to one side. 

Like a vice, fear gripped your heart. _No, no, no…._

You dropped your half-eaten spoon of peanut butter on the counter as you hurried to his bedside. “Sam?” You patted his cheek, relief washing over you as his eyes shot open. 

He looked up at you in confusion. “Whoa, what? What is it?”

You sighed and released him, hands falling to your hips as you took a breath. “Dammit, Sam. You can’t scare me like that.”

A little smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he watched you. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to. Just tired.“ With his free hand he dragged an x pattern over his heart. "Promise.”

You glanced at his monitor, willing your heart rate to slow, because his was certainly within normal ranges. "No napping while we’re draining you of your blood, okay?”

“You got it.”

You went back to the counter top and grabbed the extra spoon and scooped up a fair amount of peanut butter, approaching again and holding it out to him. Sam didn’t argue when you said, “Eat up, Brawny. Don’t need you fainting for real.”

Then you heard Dean’s voice, slurred and groggy. “The hell … is this?” 

You spun on your heels to find him holding the Guedel airway assist device in one hand and eyeing it suspiciously, apparently having pulled it from his mouth.

“Dean, honey?” you said, relief in your voice evident now that he was awake and responding again. You reached out a hand, taking the Guedel from him and setting it aside before gripping his hand in yours.

His eyes snapped up to lock on yours and you smiled for him, bending over to kiss his cheek as gratitude filled your heart.

“Welcome back, jerk,“ Sam piped in from the next sick bed over

Dean furrowed his brow and turned his head to inspect his brother who was lying on the bed next to him. “What’s wrong … with you?” he asked, wheezing.

“Nothing,” Sam said with a smirk. “Just giving my idiot brother my life’s blood.”

Dean was slow to process Sam’s words, but you watched his eyes flit around before finally settling on the tube running from Sam’s arm. He moved to sit up, concerned for Sam even in his drugged state. 

“Take it easy, big guy.” You stopped him with a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Sam’s okay. He’s just looking out for his big brother. Now that you’re awake I need you to stay put. Try not to move around, kay?” 

Dean relaxed some at your assurance that Sam was fine. His eyes were still a little glossy as they searched yours. “I feel funny,” he added with some effort as he eyed the IV in the back of his left hand.

“That would be the painkillers, what little I could give you, anyway. With all the blood loss, I’m afraid it isn’t much.”

He managed a small smile, despite the fact that he was obviously still having trouble breathing.

You lifted the oxygen mask he’d pulled aside and gently put it back in place over his mouth and nose. “We’re going to leave this on for now. Your oxygen is still low.”

“Make a pin cushion … out of me?” Dean said in an effort to lighten the mood. Slightly wary of the IV line as he moved, Dean used his left hand to pull aside the light blanket you had covering him, revealing the tube of blood running into his right arm at the inside of his elbow. 

He gazed at it for only a second before his eyes shifted to look at the bandage and the other tube that was protruding from the side of his chest. He raised an eyebrow, his labored breathing fogging up the mask, but all he said was, “Huh….”

Sam smiled, shaking his head. “The one time he’s speechless, and I don’t feel like I can even enjoy it.”

"I was gonna say … in one tube … and out the other.” Dean took a few wheezing breaths and then cocked his head in Sam’s direction. “….Bitch.”

Sam chuckled.

You grinned, grabbing the carton of orange juice and holding it out to Sam. “Drink.” You pulled over the rolling stool, positioning it between the two sick beds, and leaned in to rest your forehead against Dean’s.

“Does this mean … you’re not mad at me?” Dean asked, a little half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth when you pulled back to look at him.

“I could never be mad at you for saving me,” you answered, reaching over to smooth his hair with your fingers. “But-”

“ _But?_ ” He breathed for a second, and you hated that the simple act of it was such a chore. “Why does there have to be a ‘but’?”

“Dean, you can’t make a habit of taking my injuries on yourself. I don’t know exactly what you did, or how you-”

“Much as I’d like to … it was a … one time thing,” Dean explained with some effort. “Spell only works once.”

“Mmm-hmmm….” You eyed him warily. “And just how long have you had this spell in your back pocket?”

He looked at the ceiling, as if considering your question. “I dunno … few months, maybe.”

“It’s a good thing you’re cute, Winchester. Because sometimes you are a stubborn, self-sacrificing damn fool.”

Dean raised an eyebrow at you. “Put it on my headstone,” he quipped.

“Noted,” Sam piped in lightly.

You pulled your stethoscope from your neck and put it on, holding the diaphragm to Dean’s chest and listening as he breathed. Then you had him lean forward long enough to auscultate his lungs from the back 

“This chest tube may have to stay for a few days,” you told him as you helped him relax against the inclined bed again. “Your breathing should get easier and easier as the blood drains and your lung can expand, but it’s a bit of a process I’m afraid.”

“I’ve got this hot doctor … looking out for me,” he said, making you smile. “Could be worse.”

It took a few minutes to end the transfusion when the time came, removing the tubing and catheters connecting each of the guys one at a time, and using gauze and Coban wrap for compression to stop the bleeding. 

“Not so fast,” you told Sam when he moved to stand and free himself from the monitor. “Back on the bed. Leave that on.”

“I feel fine,” Sam argued.

“Good to hear. But gauging the amount of blood you donated wasn’t an exact science, and I want to be sure we didn’t overdo it,” you said. “If you go down, I can’t exactly catch you and haul your ass back into that bed.”

Sam resigned himself to stay on the bed, putting up his feet in an exaggerated show of leisure.

You peeled off your gloves and tossed them in the garbage. Taking a step back, you gazed at them both lying there in sick beds, giving each other a hard time like your world hadn’t just been rocked. 

And something about the scene before you, their light banter, Dean’s slurred speech and wheezing that at least meant he was conscious and breathing, against the odds, made the reality of what you’d all just endured come crashing down around you.

“I’ll be right back,” you managed as you walked out into the hallway. You headed for your room, intending to lose the jacket that had kept you covered, and find a clean t-shirt to slip on. But as you walked tears filled your eyes. 

You barely reached the bottom of the hall before your feet wouldn’t carry you any further. You paused, hand against the wall at your back, sliding down the wall slowly until you were resting on the cold tile floor, breath hitching on a silent sob.


	21. 21

Dean had been hurt before - even seriously - but nothing like this. Nothing this critical. Nothing that made you feel like his life was literally in your hands. 

And it was all because he’d taken your injury upon himself.

You’d almost lost him. And the crushing reality of it just broke you.

For a moment you let yourself get swept up in the possibility of it. In the overwhelming pain of it. In the sheer goddamn luck that had been on your side just long enough to prevent it.

Knees tucked up to your chest, arms wrapped around yourself, you sobbed into your jacket sleeve in the hallway of the bunker.

God, you just … you couldn’t imagine life without Dean. Your heart pounded, aching at just the thought. From the sound of things, he hadn’t hesitated to throw himself in harm’s way to save you. 

He’d worked risky magic with no thought for himself. You both loved and feared that quality in him. And though you never doubted the lengths Dean would go to keep you safe, seeing the aftermath of what that looked like now was something else entirely.

You let yourself cry, tears soaking into the sleeve of your jacket. You had to get it all out. Because you were going to have to walk back into that infirmary with your Doctor mode on. Dean had days of recovery ahead of him. And he was going to need you to be sharp and strong for that.

Picking yourself up off the floor, you continued down the hall to your bedroom and pulled on a clean shirt. You stopped at the sink long enough to splash cold water on your face.

“You got this,” you told your reflection after patting your face dry. “You’ve got him.”

And then you were hurrying back to the infirmary, willing your hands to stop shaking on the way.

Sam insisted he could help when you began to clean up the mess in the infirmary, disinfecting as you went. You ordered him to stay on the bed, knowing it wouldn’t be worth him exerting himself just yet. The place would need a thorough cleaning, but removing the blood from the exam table and the floor made a huge difference in the feel of the room. And a quick clean up was really all you had the energy for.

When you finished, you checked Sam’s monitor readings one more time. “Well Brawny, your blood pressure is holding at 105/68. Pulse is 53. Looks like you’re free.”

You turned off the monitor while Sam dropped the pulse ox clip on the bed and peeled the blood pressure cuff off his right arm. He got to his feet, stretching his long frame, hands reaching toward the ceiling. “Man, feels good to be out of that bed,” he said in an exaggerated tone.

Dean coughed and eyed Sam. “Rub it in....”

“What do you need?” Sam asked you. “A snack? A nap?”

“More bottles to change these out,” you said, gesturing to his smoothie shaker bottles that were collecting the blood from Dean’s chest. “Gonna be full soon.”

“Coming right up,” Sam said.

“And my laptop?” you added. “I have to order a UWSD and get it over-nighted.”

“A … a what?” Dean asked.

“It stands for Under Water Sealed Drain system. It’s to help collect this blood from your chest tube,” you explained to him. Then you glanced at Sam and added, “Our little system is great temporarily, but I’d like to get a real device asap.”

“Bottles and a laptop. Got it.” Sam said with a nod as he headed for the hall.

“Pour me a fifth while you’re at it?” Dean tried, smirking like an adorable idiot.

“Nice try,” you said, crouching down to check the amount of blood that had accumulated in the bottle contraption from Dean’s chest tube, 400 mL in the first hour, noting it in your phone for later reference along with his vitals.

You straightened again and laid a gentle hand on Dean’s shoulder, leaning in to kiss his forehead. “How’s your pain?”

He quirked an eyebrow. “Who said anything … about pain?”

“You’re asking for whiskey.”

“Because I like it.” He coughed, wincing. You shook your head slowly. “S’okay, sweetheart. I’m tough-”

“As nails,” you finished in unison. “I’m not arguing that,” you told him. “But I know it hurts just breathing.” Your eyes locked with his. “And you don’t have to be tough all the time. Not with me.”

He smiled up at you, and you saw a little of that Dean Winchester sparkle back in those green eyes of his.

Sam returned just a few minutes later with a computer and more shaker bottles. You tossed a pair of gloves at Sam and he helped you switch out the shaker bottles for empty ones, and with another set of hands it wasn’t as difficult to maintain the seal as you’d anticipated. You peeled off your gloves and tossed them in the garbage, brushing your hair out of your eyes with a sigh.

“I think you need … a nap, too….” Dean was looking at you in concern now.

“I’m okay,” you assured him.

He pulled the oxygen mask from his face, as if it was hindering his ability to get his point across. 

“Just because I took this … from you … doesn’t mean it wasn’t real … for a bit,” Dean said, wheezing a little. “You were still bleeding out.”

You knew he was right. Your body had experienced the onset of the hemothorax, even if it had been temporary, thanks to Dean’s spell. You told yourself that was why you were so exhausted. It was probably at least partly true. 

Dean jerked a thumb toward the other sick bed. “Lie down…. Rest.”

“Bossy.” You smiled at him, taking the oxygen mask from his hand and fitting it back in place over his mouth and nose. But you did sit down on the bed, leaning back against the pillow and kicking your feet up.

Sam sat at your feet on the bottom of the bed and you told him what to search for. He turned the screen toward you to confirm that he had the right product before you asked him to add three to the cart (planning for the future and hoping like hell you wouldn't need them) and make the purchase.

“Nap time,” Dean insisted once Sam had completed the order.

You gazed at him from the corner of your eye from where you still sat, propped up on the bed. “I can sleep when I’m dead.” But Dean glared at you, not an ounce of humor in his expression. “What? You can joke about your headstone, but I can’t?”

He drew in a labored breath. “...Exactly.”

"He's right," Sam said. "You've got to be exhausted. I'll stay and keep an eye on this troublemaker while you power nap." Sam pulled a clean blanket from the cupboard and tossed it at you.

You realized you couldn't win the argument against them both and obediently slid down on the bed until you were lying down. You covered yourself with the blanket and bunched up the pillow a little to get comfortable, letting your eyes fall shut.

You heard the sound of Sam pulling a chair over toward Dean's bed and then fell asleep as Sam gave Dean crap about his 'little magic trick.'


	22. Chapter 22

You weren’t sure how long you’d been asleep. Could have been five minutes, could have been forty-five, but you awoke with a start to Sam calling out your name. You sat straight up in the sick bed, brushing your hair out of your face and turning to see Sam hovering over Dean in the next one over. God, it was like deja vu. **  
**

“What is it?”

“My heart’s … acting goofy,” Dean stated as you rose to your feet. A glance at his monitor showed that his heart rate had rocketed up to 183 beats per minute, and the rhythm tracing along the screen was irregular. 

You stepped up to his bedside. “When did it start?”

Sam rubbed his face with a hand. “Just now before I woke you.”

Dean wheezed a little, saying, "It’s flopping around … like a … a fish.”

You pressed your fingertips lightly to Dean’s chest where the apex beat of his heart could be palpated, using the other hand to feel the radial pulse in his wrist and noting the obvious disconnect between the two.

“Just give me a second to figure this out,” you told them both. “It’s not the chest tube placement,” you thought out loud. You’d double checked its positioning with your ultrasound and were confident it wasn’t interfering with his heart’s ability to pump. You set the EKG to print for you, tearing off a strip to evaluate his heart’s rhythm more closely, noting the absence of P waves and the seemingly irregular pattern of R waves.

_Shit, shit, shit…._

You put on your stethoscope and brought the bell to Dean’s chest, listening to his heart and carefully watching the green line bounce along the monitor. His heartbeat was all over the place.

You took your stethoscope off and turned to the EKG machine again, adjusting the print settings to increase the paper speed. Then you printed another strip. 

The new setting doubled the distance between the R waves, making it easier to discern the lack of coordinated atrial depolarization. The problem was painfully obvious then. You set the printed strip aside and took Dean’s hand in yours. “Hey big guy,” you said as he gazed up at you. “Your heart has apparently decided to rebel. It’s called atrial fibrillation.”

“Can’t be good,” Dean breathed.

“Definitely a fish flopping around,” you continued, agreeing with his earlier analogy. “Although it actually sounds more like shoes in a dryer.”

“Why … is it happening?”

You double-checked the oxygen settings on the nearby tank. “Arrhythmias can be caused by poor oxygenation, trauma and stress. With what you’ve just been through, any number of factors could have brought this on.”

“Is it dangerous?” Sam asked.

“Only if we let it continue,” you answered honestly, giving Dean’s hand a little squeeze. “As long as your heart isn’t beating properly, you’re at risk for a blood clot, or possibly even a stroke. We need to get it under control.”

Dean held your gaze and nodded. “What now, Doc?”

“You’re not hemodynamically stable enough for beta-blockers,” you answered, though you were thinking out loud again more than anything. “Basically I can’t give you medications to treat the arrhythmia because they’ll cause your blood pressure to drop too low.”

“What can we do?” Sam asked.

With a sinking feeling, you realized there was only one way to restore Dean’s heart to a normal rhythm…. “I’m going to have to use an electrical current to interrupt the Afib.”

Sam shifted on his feet. “You - you mean…” he lowered his voice, though not so low Dean couldn’t hear him, “…like a shock?”

“You’re going to shock my ticker?” Dean crooked an eyebrow, but didn’t seem nearly as worried as he probably should have been by that realization. “You hear that, Sammy? … Just call me Crispy Critter.”

You bent low enough to kiss his cheek. “I’ve always taken good care of that big ol’ heart of yours, Winchester. Haven’t I?”

Dean’s wheezing breath fogged up the oxygen mask as he nodded. “Always, Sweetheart.”

“I’m not about to stop now. We’re going to fix this.”

The fact that cardioversion was a relatively safe way to restore the heart to a normal rhythm was mostly because it was done in a hospital setting with access to a plethora of cardiac drugs and specialists if the need arose. Of course you didn’t have that luxury. You were just going to have to work with what you had. 

“Do you have the equipment you need?” Sam asked, as if he’d read your mind. He looked like he was trying to talk himself into being on board with your plan. You knew he trusted you; it wasn’t that. But he was either going to have to watch you shoot electricity through Dean’s chest or leave the room. And Sam had had a long day, too.

“Remember way back when you were helping me shop for all these supplies?” you answered. “I got the multi-function monitor that’s capable of defibrillation and cardioversion. I felt like I was being overly cautious and paranoid at the time, but it’s designed for this exact thing.” You touched Sam’s arm tenderly. "You with me, Brawny?”

Sam patted your hand with his own. "Yeah. Of course.”

You applied the liquid gel pads to Dean’s chest on the left lateral chest wall and as close to the right sternal border as you could manage, given the chest tube positioning.

As you made preparations for the procedure, Sam tried to distract his brother - and you suspected himself - from the impending shock.

“Speaking of Crispy Critter, so many nicknames are coming to mind,” Sam said, borrowing from Dean’s inclination toward humor to deflect in times of stress. “Greased lightning. Monster of Frankenstein …”

Dean’s brow furrowed and he feigned insult. “Come on, Sammy….” He coughed a little, trying to catch his breath. “At least give me Shazam." 

With the gel pads in place, you took a second to double check that you had everything you needed. Just in case…. 

Just in case there were complications with the cardioversion and - God forbid - you shocked Dean’s heart into another arrhythmia. 

You set the monitor to sync mode, watching the rhythm trace across the screen.

“These little arrows are new,” Sam observed, pointing to the screen. “What’s that about?”

“The machine is locking onto the R waves in the cardiac cycle to accurately time the current discharge,” you explained as you set the machine to 100 joules.

Dean attempted to take a deep breath, which only made him cough. You touched his arm gently until it passed. 

"You good, big guy?” you said sympathetically.

“Go ahead … ” Dean said. “I can take it.”

You nodded back and said, “All clear.”

Sam huffed a little, fists clenched at his sides as he reluctantly took a step away from the bed.

“Okay Winchester, hold on for me.”

Dean nodded stoically.

_Please, please, please let this work…._

With a silent prayer, you pressed and held down the SHOCK button on the machine. 

The machine didn’t discharge immediately, but rather synchronized again to be certain it was in the safe part of his heart’s QRS complex before the electrical current was delivered at an R wave, passing from one paddle on Dean’s chest to the other. 

Dean’s eyes went wide and he grunted, his body jerking as electricity coursed directly through his heart.

You watched the monitor, studying the readout and trying to ignore the way Sam was shifting his weight nervously just behind you, but the arrhythmia persisted.

You leaned in, taking Dean’s hand in yours to draw his attention to you. “I’m sorry, honey. I know that hurt like hell, but apparently your heart’s as stubborn as you are,” you added, forcing a smile for him. 

Sam was running his hand through his hair in your peripheral vision, almost pacing - if you could call one or two steps in either direction pacing.

“We’re going to try again, okay?” you told Dean.

Dean’s jaw clenched in anticipation of another round, but he nodded for you, shoring himself up. You swallowed the bile rising in your throat and increased the energy to 200 joules, syncing the machine again.

“All clear,” you said as you scanned the area surrounding his bed again. “Here goes.”

You pressed and held the SHOCK button down again, and when the electrical current discharged a groan tore from Dean’s throat like he’d just been sucker punched. His stomach muscles bunched, fists balling up, breath catching in his throat.

“Dean? You’ve gotta breathe, baby,” you coaxed as you laid a hand on his shoulder.

He sucked in a breath of air, fists still clenched, and said, “Son of a bitch!”

Sam turned away, but swung back around to watch again like an unseen force wouldn’t let him look away for even a second. “Did-” he couldn’t even get his question out fully, afraid of the answer as you studied Dean’s heartbeat on the screen. 

The rhythm had definitely changed, but you needed a closer look to be certain. You set the EKG to print and tore off a strip of the pink paper to study closely, holding it up in front of your face. But there were P waves now, and the entire QRS complex was recognizable.

“Sinus rhythm,” you exclaimed in relief, hearing Sam swear under his breath as you leaned in to kiss Dean’s cheek.

“Holy hell,” Dean breathed. “I … that was….” He seemed to be having trouble stringing words together. 

“I know, honey.” You caressed his cheek with your thumb, smiling at him. “You did so good.” 

“Shit,” he breathed. “Holy shit.” Dean’s fists were both still clenched, and you gently coaxed one of them free, intertwining your fingers. 

“Your heart is beating nice and strong again,” you assured him. Aside from being a little tachycardic at 130 beats per minute, his heart’s rhythm was steady.

Sam was wiping his face with a hand and watching you. “Really?”

You nodded, smiling at him just before Sam reacted instinctively, wrapping his arms around your shoulders from the side. You hugged him back, gripping him around the middle with one arm and fighting back the moisture that threatened your eyes as relief coursed through you. 

"If you could keep that heart of yours in check now, Winchester, that would make my day,” you told Dean, seeing his smile through the oxygen mask.

“Never was an issue … before you came along … sweetheart.” You laughed softly and wiped the tears that had escaped your eyes. "Hey now, none of that,” he said with some effort. “I’m not goin’ nowhere.”

You took a breath, trying to collect yourself. “I can’t help it. You scared the hell out of me.”

He blinked. “You first, sweetheart.”

You smiled and Sam nudged you lightly, saying, “You know, he’s not wrong. I still can’t imagine exactly what happened to begin with. It was like one minute you were fine and sleeping in the front seat of the car, and the next minute you were collapsing in the garage and bleeding internally. How the hell does that happen?”

“I think the blunt force trauma of being thrown through the green house last night must have damaged and weakened a vein,” you told them both. “Catching my duffel must have been just jarring enough to puncture it.”

“At least that would explain it.” Sam bumped your shoulder with his elbow. “I was starting to worry maybe you were turning into a fragile princess on us.”

“I didn’t marry no princess,” Dean wheezed, throwing a playful wink in your direction. “Whatever happened … it hurt like a son of a bitch.” He noticed you were keeping a close eye on his heart monitor, following your gaze to the monitor and saying, "You still look worried, Doc.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. This is clearly my ‘I’m just being vigilant’ face.” You squeezed his hand and bent to kiss his forehead. “Just lay back and relax, Winchester. I’d like to see your heart rate dip below 100.”

“All right then,” he quipped. “I’ll get right to that.”

“I’m going to grab a shower and see what I can scrounge up for us to eat for dinner,” Sam said as he turned to go. You reached over quickly, playfully poking him the sides and causing an “Ah, hey!” to burst out of him as he tried to pin your hands there with his arms to protect himself.

“That’s for the fragile princess comment, Brawny.”

Sam laughed and spun, making use of that ridiculous wingspan of his and hooking the back of your neck with an elbow. He pulled you close enough to tuck you up against his side and under his arm. But instead of retribution he kissed the top of your head and released you. “Fair enough.”

As Sam rummaged for food, you checked the amount of blood that had drained in the bottle collection system and then put your stethoscope back on to listen to Dean’s chest.

His heart rate was still elevated at 119 beats per minute, but it was slowly coming down. The rhythm was steady, which was your main concern.

“How am I doin’ Doc?” Dean asked as you moved the chest piece around to listen. You weren’t sure whether it was the pale tint to his skin from the blood loss, or the green plastic of the oxygen mask that made the green of his eyes seem even brighter than usual as you gazed back at him.

“Well, if you were a horse, we’d have put you down hours ago,” you teased, raising an eyebrow and slinging the stethoscope around your neck. 

Dean reached up with a hand, pulling the oxygen mask down and away from his face. “Like I said … you’re not getting rid of me that easily…. C’mon. Gimme some sugar.” 

You laughed softly and bent low, brushing your thumb across the light stubble on his jaw and planting a soft kiss on his lips. 

“You did good, sweetheart.” Dean gazed up at you, his chest rising and falling with a labored breath. “I knew you would.”


	23. Chapter 23

By the time Sam cooked a couple of frozen pizzas and carried the food back to the infirmary, Dean’s heart rate was hovering in the nineties where it stayed while the three of you ate together. 

You raised the head of the bed for Dean and switched out the oxygen mask he’d been wearing for a less cumbersome nasal cannula now that his oxygen levels were improving.

He was moving slower than usual as he ate, cursing this wire and that tube that got in the way, but he managed to eat two slices of pizza despite the added difficulty brought on by the situation. And with only minimal complaining about the fact that he couldn’t wash dinner down with a beer.

You monitored him closely, charting in your phone how much fluid was draining through his chest tube and keeping an eye on his cardiac rhythm and oxygen levels.

“Wonder how … Kenny and Dylan are doing,” Dean said between bites of pizza.

“Let’s see if we can get an update,” you said as you pulled out your phone and shot a quick text to Chief Richards at Kansas Medical. Rather than texting you back, she called less than a minute later.

“I’ve got you on speaker phone,” you told her, setting your phone on your lap. “Agents Ranaldo and Moore are here with me.”

“How’s Kenny?” Dean asked.

“Still showing improvements. Slow but steady, and that’s all we can ask for,” she answered. “His oxygen levels are increasing. If he continues at this rate, I think there’s a possibility we’ll get him off that ventilator here in the next couple of days.”

You felt your throat tighten with emotion. God, it had been such a roller coaster of a week, caring for the boys at the hospital, facing down a Gu Sorceror, falling unconscious in the garage and then waking up only to find Dean had claimed your injury and the resulting hemothorax for himself. It was no wonder you were feeling emotional.. 

“I - I hope it works out that way,” you responded.

“And Dylan?” Sam asked.

“We’re still repeating labs every couple of hours, but I think you got him that antidote early enough to prevent any serious damage. He’s here for at least another twenty-four hours for observation, but he could go home as soon as tomorrow night.”

“That’s great news,” Dean added, echoing your own thoughts before you could voice them.

“Thanks for the call,” you told her. “I hope you don’t mind if I stay in touch to see how they’re improving.”

“I expect nothing less,” she answered. “And have you all seen the news?”

“We’ve been on the road,” Sam lied. “Haven’t had a TV on yet. Why?”

“They’re airing footage of the burned down Butterfly House at the Wichita Gardens, and the face of a wanted woman named Wen Gu. I don’t suppose you three know anything about what went down there?”

“Can’t say that we do,” Dean spoke up, wincing a little as he reached for another piece of pizza. 

“Uh-huh,” Chief Richards said, a disbelieving smile evident in her tone. “Okay then, well, I won’t keep you from your work. I’ve got to go and update Kenny’s parents on his latest lab results anyway. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you,” you told her before ending the call.

“I like her,” Sam said as he rose to his feet and tossed his paper plate into the nearby trash. He peeled the coban wrap from his elbow where you’d secured it to stop the bleeding earlier and threw that away, too. 

“What else can I do to make you more comfortable?” you asked Dean. “We need to get you settled in for the night.”

“I think I’ve had enough of sick bay,” Dean answered. “What do you say we move this operation to the bedroom?”

You honestly couldn’t tell if he actually expected you to agree to that scenario, but with Dean it was better not to beat around the bush. “Nice try, Winchester. Consider yourself admitted to the infirmary. You’re not going anywhere for at least a few days, so you might as well start getting used to the idea.”

The glint in his eye let you know he hadn’t really expected to hear differently. But that didn’t stop him from persisting. “Awe, come on…. At least there’s a TV.”

“Glad to see you’ve still got some fight left in you.” you told him with a smile. “The answer is still no. We’ll bring the laptop in so you can watch Netflix. Besides, are you going to sit here and pretend you could move around - walk across the bunker - even if I let you?”

“The only thing worse than being stuck in this bed … “ he paused to cough “ … would be … an actual hospital bed.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Or, you know, dying.” 

Dean wet his lips with his tongue and cocked his head. “Well, yeah. There’s that…. Although, I may still die of boredom….”

“What a pitiful way for a Winchester to go.”

He smirked. “I don’t suppose you’ll ever forgive yourself … if that happens…. Probably waste away pining over me and shit.“

"I would be a sad sight indeed,” you humored him.

Sam chuckled at the two of you. "I’ll grab the laptop and get it set up,” he offered.

You went to the room you and Dean shared to change into some joggers and grab a couple of warmer blankets and your water bottle in anticipation of spending the night in the infirmary with him.

When you returned, Sam was plugging in the power cord for the laptop and trying to angle it where Dean could see it easily. 

You carried over one of the extra blankets you’d brought with you to the other sick bed, spreading it out on top for you to use later. Then you turned to Dean. You adjusted the blanket covering his bottom half to be a little more snug up around his waist and said, “Let me know if you get chilly.”

Dean nodded. “Actually I’ve gotta pee … like a racehorse,” he told you. “You gotta let me up and outta this bed … for a minute.” He moved like he was going to try and swing his legs down off the bed, but you threw out a hand and gripped his shoulder, stopping him.

“Oh no you don’t,” you said sternly. “Dean, you can’t get up.”

A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Not at all?”

“This system Sam and I rigged here to drain the blood from your chest is competent, but fragile, and it’s certainly not portable. One wrong move and we could be looking at major complications,” you explained apologetically. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with a bedpan until that new system I ordered comes tomorrow.” You pulled a bedpan from a cupboard and walked back over to him, watching his eyes grow large at just the sight of it.

Sam laughed out loud, an amused sound that could only come from having occasion to witness a sibling endure something completely mortifying. And ‘mortified’ was the only word you could accurately use to describe Dean’s face just then.

“You’re … you’re not seriously going to make me … piss in a pan?” he whined.

You put a hand on your hip, considering his options. “I mean, we could go with a catheter and you could just pee whenever you feel like it. No pan. No hassle.”

You watched Dean’s jaw clench. “I wouldn’t exactly call … sticking a tube up there … no hassle, sweetheart.” 

“Funny, you were a lot more agreeable about things when you were more hopped up on pain meds.”

You couldn’t help but grin at the look on his face. He took a few deep, wheezing breaths, closing his eyes like he was trying to talk himself in or out of something. Then he looked up at you and added, “I gotta say, I’m a little surprised you’d be willing … to risk damaging the goods like that.”

“I gotta say,” you countered lightly. “I’m offended you’d question my skills.” 

Dean was full-on pouting now, lower lip jutting out to make a point.

Sam chuckled again, turning to you. “With that lip he could drown in a rainstorm.“ And then it was Sam’s turn to be on the receiving end of the bitch face.

“You know, they actually have external catheters that don’t go ‘up there’,” you told Dean, complete with finger quotes. “I want to say there are a couple stashed away here somewhere. They’re called condom catheters, or Texas catheters.”

Sam full-on snorted at that and had to turn away in an attempt to compose himself.

Dean moved to cross his arms over his chest, thought better of it, and turned his head to the side in what you assumed was supposed to be a cold-shoulder move. “Got enough tubes coming and going here already, sweetheart. Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

“Suit yourself, big guy.” You gave him an apologetic smile as you offered the bedpan to him. 

Dean ignored you for a few long seconds before he huffed and reached out a hand to take it from you. “Goddammit…. You know, if you two were any more entertained by this … I’d be worried you were gonna record it.” You and Sam were both biting back your laughter, which Dean didn’t miss. “Don’t go getting any ideas either,” he grumbled. “And for hell sakes … turn around!”

You blinked at him. “You might need some help-”

“Two minutes of privacy,” he barked. “Two minutes…. Is that too much to ask?”

You saluted him, lips pressed together in a thin line. You and Sam both obediently did one-eighties, facing the far wall of the infirmary. Sam shoved his hands in his jeans pockets and you rocked lightly on your feet.

After some grunting and shuffling of fabric - and about twenty seconds of dead air - Dean sighed in frustration. “Make some noise or something, will ya?”

Sam did a very good impression of Dean’s full-body eye roll.

“Dean, could you just-”

“I’m trying here, Sammy!”

You tried to cover up your laugh with a cough, which came out as more of a snort, but Dean was apparently too busy being annoyed with his brother to chide you just then.

As humorous as the situation was in the moment, you did feel awful about his predicament. That’s when you realized you could do something that might make things a little easier for him.

You started humming, seeing Sam glance your way at the sound. Then you sang the first line of ‘Bad Moon on the Rise” by Creedence Clearwater Revival. 

"I see a bad moon a-rising…. I see trouble on the way.” Sam looked at you with utter amusement shining in his eyes. You nudged him with an elbow and whispered, “Come on, Brawny. Back me up.”

Sam reluctantly followed your lead, somewhat awkwardly joining you for the second half of the verse. 

“I see earthquakes and lightnin’…. I see bad times today…. Don’t go round tonight. It’s bound to take your life. There’s a bad moon on the rise.” It was just after the two of you began loudly belting the chorus that you heard Dean finally relieving himself in the bedpan behind you. 

You dove straight into the refrain when the chorus ended, and didn’t stop singing until Dean called out.

“All right, you two. Enough. Show’s over.”

You turned around slowly, but at least Dean wasn’t scowling anymore. “See, that wasn’t so bad was it?”

“Could have been worse, I guess,” Dean admitted. “You could have ruined a Zeppelin song for me.” But the shit-eating grin that spread across his face was enough to make you smile back.

Sam didn’t head for his own room until he was certain you and Dean were all situated for at least a few hours. He set an alarm on his phone to come back in at 2 am to watch over his brother so you could get some rest. Until then, you were as comfortable as could be in the sick bed next to Dean’s, operating the laptop as the two of you binge watched a show. You monitored Dean closely as the blood continued to drain from his chest cavity, tracking the progress.

When you got up to change his IV bag you noticed his eyes were heavy-lidded as he watched the laptop screen.

“Hey, tough guy,” you said softly as you hung the new bag. “You should close your eyes and get some sleep.”

“I’m good,” he mumbled, repressing a cough that made him wince.

“You’re exhausted, babe. Just take it easy. Your only job is to lay back and get some rest while you’re looking so devastatingly handsome. Get some sleep and let me worry about all this, okay?” 

The corner of his mouth twitched a little in amusement. “M’kay … maybe for a bit.”

You pressed a kiss to his temple and smoothed his hair with your fingers until his eyes closed. You stood there a moment, watching him sleep. He’d saved your life by working the spell. There was no doubt about that. You supposed you’d never really be able to get a grip on the warring emotions in your heart over it. Over what he’d done for you. What he was still doing for you. 

Your eyes welled up again and you had to blink back tears. There was no time for getting emotional again when you had a job to do. You had to focus on getting him through this. You used your phone’s flashlight to inspect the level of blood in the bottle system, noting the measurement, along with his vitals in the app you were using to track the changes. 

Dean managed to keep sleeping while you monitored him and watched the laptop with the volume turned on low to keep yourself from getting drowsy as the hours ticked by. 

  
Sam sauntered back in promptly just before 2 am, pausing at Dean’s bedside to gaze at his brother briefly before he came to sit next to you where you sat on the edge of the other sick bed.

“How’s he doing?” Sam whispered.

“He’s tough, as always.” You smiled for Sam and leaned your head against his shoulder for a moment. “I didn’t want to freak either of you out earlier, but if enough blood had come through that chest tube, we’d have been calling an ambulance.”

You felt Sam’s shoulder rise and fall a little with a deep breath. “I kinda figured, with the way you’ve been tracking the measurements so closely. Think he’s out of the woods yet, then?”

“Seems to be,” you answered, watching the readout of Dean’s heart rhythm trace along the monitor screen. “Shouldn’t need surgery, anyway.”

“We’ll call that a win,” Sam said as you lifted your head to look at him.

“Damn right we will,” you said softly.

“Why don’t you head to bed?” Sam prompted, gesturing with a jerk of his chin in Dean’s direction. “I’ve got him. I’ll call your phone if we need. Get some sleep, Spider Monkey.”

You got to your feet and took your water bottle with you, making your way out of the infirmary, knowing Sam would watch his brother like a hawk in case anything changed.

You took a quick shower before towel drying your hair and climbing into the bed you normally shared with your husband. Once your phone was plugged in on the nightstand you switched out your pillow for his, wanting the comfort of his scent on the pillowcase as you closed your eyes and sank into sleep.


	24. Chapter 24

“There’s my girl,” Dean said when you walked into the infirmary at six the next morning.

“Good morning guys,” you said, bending to kiss Dean’s cheek in greeting. You set down the clean shaker cups you’d brought with you from the mess hall.

Sam was lounging on the other sick bed but rose to his feet, stretching his long frame and stifling a yawn.

“Long night? you asked him.

"We’ve had worse,” Sam said with a slow smile and a glance at his brother.

Dean responded with a little one-shouldered shrug. “You’re not wrong.”

“Not going to lie, I thought you’d still be sleeping,” you told Dean.

“Hell, sweetheart, you know me…. I’m not used to getting more than … a good solid 3 or 4 hours in. I’m wide awake,” he answered. 

But he had a point. Dean had always been a late to bed, early to rise kind of guy.

“How about you?” you said to Sam. “Ready to hit the sack?”

Sam ran a hand through his hair. “I’ll start with a hot shower, then we’ll see.”

“Thanks Sam,” you told him as he moved to leave. 

He patted your shoulder as he passed by. “Sure thing.”

“How are you feeling, Winchester?” you asked Dean as you picked up your stethoscope from the nearby supply car and slung it around your neck.

“Like I’ll never take breathing for granted again,” he answered, smiling for you. He didn’t need to add the implied ‘It hurts like a son of a bitch.’

“It’ll get better soon, honey,” you promised, smiling sympathetically. “Sharp chest pains that worsen with breathing are common after cardioversion. Add that to the trauma of having the tube put in, and the blood in your chest, and you’ve endured a lot the last twelve hours. I’m really sorry.”

But your apology had him frowning. “Don’t be. Small price to pay … to keep you safe, sweetheart.”

“There’s that Winchester charm I fell in love with,” you said with a grin as you readied a dose of pain medication and proceeded to add it to his IV. 

You put on your stethoscope and auscultated his lungs thoroughly, comparing sides. “Increased breath sounds on the right since last night,” you told him as you listened.

“Yeah?”

You moved the chest piece to the pulmonic valve of his heart and listened carefully, studying the rhythm and the way the valve opened and closed. A brief tour of the rest of the valves and you were satisfied.

“That big ol’ heart of yours sounds strong and steady this morning,” you assured him.

“It had better…. Think we’ve had enough excitement for a few days.”

You switched out the shaker cups that were collecting the draining blood from Dean’s chest tube for fresh ones, noting the amount of fluid collection in your phone. 

“I bet we can talk your brother into running into town a little later to see if the UWSD we ordered is at the post office,” you said.

“Will I be able to walk to the bathroom once we get it?" 

"If you’re feeling up to it.”

“Why are we waiting?” He covered his mouth with a balled up fist, coughing softly. “Just send him now.”

You blinked at him. “It’s six in the morning. The post office won’t open for hours,” you reminded him. Dean’s face fell with the realization that you were right.

“Do you need the bedpan?” you asked.

Dean huffed. “Nah, I’m good. Used it less than an hour ago.”

You sat in the chair next to his bed and took his left hand in yours, mindful of the IV line. “How about we pass the time with a little breakfast?” you suggested, intertwining his fingers with yours. “I’ll whip up some of those blueberry muffins you love so much. Maybe some scrambled eggs and bacon, too?”

Dean’s stomach literally growled on command, making you giggle. He stifled a laugh, wincing at the pain it caused. “Can’t say no to bacon, can I?”

You leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “Not hardly.” Then you pulled your phone from your pocket and said, “How’s the charge on your phone?”

“Just fine. Sam plugged it in earlier. Why?”

You video called his number and saw his phone screen light up with the call. Dean picked it up, eyeing it with curiosity.

“Answer it,” you prompted, watching as he slid his finger along the glass surface to answer the call. “So I can keep an eye on you while I cook.”

He crooked an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

“In the last 14 hours I’ve had my finger deep inside your chest and shocked your heart with electricity. Humor me.”

Dean chuckled again, despite the pain of it. “Whatever you say, sweetheart.” 

The two of you chatted via video call as you made your way to the mess hall, set the oven to preheat, propped your phone up on the counter where you could see the screen, and began pulling ingredients from the cupboards and the fridge.

Sam joined you in the mess hall just before you pulled the muffins from the oven. His hair was still damp from his shower, and you noticed he looked fairly refreshed considering he hadn’t slept much the night before.

“Breakfast?” you asked as he gazed around, eyes settling on your phone propped up across the way. 

“Sure. Thanks.” Sam made himself useful, pouring you a mug of coffee from the pot you’d put on before getting himself one.

Dean waved at him with a “Heya, Sammy,” from your phone’s screen.

“Nice,” Sam said, mildly amused by your clever workaround to avoid leaving Dean unattended in the infirmary for any length of time.

“Right?” you said with a grin as you began pulling muffins from the tin to cool.

“Apparently I need a babysitter 24-7,” Dean added.

“Oh, you definitely do,” Sam agreed with a chuckle. “An ankle monitor might be a good addition.”

You pretended to consider the idea, grinning at the look on Dean’s face. 

“Funny, funny. Pick on the invalid why don’t you….” A fit of coughing hit him then, and you watched him on the screen in concern until it subsided. 

“That invalid is about to get breakfast in bed,” you reminded him when the coughing subsided. “It could be worse.”

“How’s the bacon coming along? Not burning, is it?”

“There you go questioning my skills again,” you teased. “Better not be making a habit of it.”

“Try not to hold it against me. I’m not me … when I’m all cooped up like this…. God, I swear I can smell it cooking from here,” he said fondly. 

“You know,” Sam began, “on second thought, he may need some alone time after all. With the bacon.”

You snickered, ducking to the side to turn off the stove. 

“There’s nothing wrong with having … a genuine appreciation for something, Sammy,” Dean countered. “Some of us like to eat food that isn’t … just pretending to be food.”

You scooped up a couple of hot muffins and added them to a plate you’d loaded with scrambled eggs before handing it to hand to Sam. 

“Wow. Thanks,” Sam said as he accepted it.

“Don’t worry, babe,” you told Dean with a wink. “Yours is coming right up.” You put eggs, several slices of bacon, and two muffins onto a plate and set the plate on a tray. Then you grabbed a second tray and made a plate for yourself, adding a cup of OJ to Dean’s tray.

You picked up Dean’s tray, and moved to grab your own but Sam beat you to it. “I got it,” he said, balancing his own in the other hand. “Lead the way.”

You snatched up your phone instead and the two of you headed for the infirmary. Dean ended the video call when you opened the door to the room, stepping inside and holding it for Sam.

You set Dean’s food tray down on the counter and raised the head of his bed up until he was comfortable enough to eat. You rolled over a rolling side table and set his food out for him, sliding it into place over his lap.

“I was wrong earlier…. Smells even better than I imagined,” Dean said as he snatched up a piece of bacon and took a bite, humming in satisfaction. 

You smiled and accepted your tray of food from Sam, getting comfortable in the chair at Dean’s side while Sam took up the other sick bed, stretching out his long legs before him and setting his plate on his lap.

“Coffee?” Dean asked hopefully, eyeing the OJ on his tray.

You gave him an apologetic smile. “Your heart’s not ready for the caffeine and we’re fresh out of decaf.”

He sighed in resignation, but gripped the glass of orange juice to take a sip. 

After breakfast you asked Dean if he had something he wanted to watch on the laptop. 

“Not ready to binge anything else quite yet,” he answered as you washed your hands at the nearby sink and pulled on a pair of nitrile gloves. “There’s gotta be something else we can do.”

“I can grab a deck of cards if you want to play a hand or two of poker,” Sam suggested.

“Please?” Dean pressed his hands together in a pleading gesture that was almost childlike.

“Oh we’re begging now?” Sam teased as he stood to go. “Come on, man, you’re breaking my heart.”

“Payback for all the years of puppy dog eyes,” Dean said, stifling a cough.

You opened up the ultrasound app on your phone and moved to Dean’s bedside, putting some conductive jelly on the transducer before holding it to the right side of his chest. The transducer bobbed slightly with his shallow breathing as you moved it around, angling to get the best view of the blood in the pleural space.

“What are you seeing?” he asked casually. “Scrambled eggs? Bacon?”

You laughed softly. “Pretty much.” But you took some screenshots on your phone and set the transducer aside, holding the phone for him to see. “This is the fluid collection that’s preventing your lung from fully expanding.”

Dean narrowed his eyes as he studied the images, watching where you pointed for him. “Huh…. Pretty wild you can see all that … with this thing.”

“It’s significantly less than yesterday. Slowly but surely it’s draining. I think you’re going to live after all.” You winked at him and wiped the jelly from his skin with a paper towel and cleaned the transducer with a disinfecting wipe.

Sam walked back in with a deck of cards and you both set up chairs on either side of Dean’s bed, using his tray table to hold the cards while Sam dealt a hand. You won the first round with a full house. 

Dean took the second hand with a straight flush, grinning at you. “All right. Off with your shirt,” he said as you gathered the cards to shuffle.

You grinned, shaking your head. “Gonna have to cut back on your pain meds, I see,” you teased in response to his suggestion that you were playing strip poker.

Much to Dean’s amusement, he won the third hand as well, this time with four Jacks. “You guys letting me win?” he joked. 

“Maybe,” Sam grumbled, though you all knew he wasn’t letting Dean win anything. 

“Pity victory or not, I’ll see an article of clothing come off now,” Dean said, wagging an eyebrow at you.

You didn’t even notice Sam bending over to remove his shoes, but the next thing you knew he was throwing his wadded up socks at his brother, smacking Dean right in the face.

Dean groaned while he pulled the rumpled socks away from his face as fast as he could move, getting semi-tangled in the IV tube. “Dammit, Sam,” he choked out, coughing. “Already can’t breathe here…. Tryin’ to kill me?“ His obvious disgust at the assault was not lessened by the fact that he couldn’t help laughing a little even as he cringed.

You watched the exchange with pure delight as Sam retorted with, “Next time you demand an article of clothing, it’ll be my pants that go. Just sayin’.”

You laughed so hard you snorted. Dean raised an eyebrow at you as you tried to compose yourself. “You had that coming, Winchester,” you managed, wiping at the moisture in your eyes from laughing so hard.

Sam sat there, shrugging nonchalantly as Dean tossed his socks back at him.


	25. Chapter 25

It was late afternoon when Sam returned to the bunker with the package from the post office Dean had been anxiously awaiting. He’d been forced to use the bedpan several times throughout the day, much to his own chagrin, and kept insisting he’d rather ‘pee in an empty coke bottle or something … like a man’, whatever that meant.

You immediately set up the Underwater Sealed Drainage System, replacing the shaker bottles of Sam’s you’d been using until then.

“Does this mean I can get out of this bed?” Dean asked.

“It means you can walk around some if you’re up to it.”

“Well, let’s make it happen,” Dean said, clapping his hands together excitedly as you set the new canister down next to the bed. “Get me up out of here.”

You smiled at the child-like joy on his face at just the idea of getting back on his feet, however minimally.

“I love you, you big, adorable goofball,” you said to him as he pulled the oxygen tube away from under his nose, trying not to get tangled in it. “Here, let me help, but the monitor is going right back on when you get back.” He didn’t argue the impending re-wiring as you gently disconnected the wires and peeled the electric stickers off, throwing them in the garbage. He pulled the pulse ox clip from his finger and set it on the bed.

With Sam on one side and you on the other, the two of you slowly managed to get Dean vertical. 

“Let’s just stand here a moment,” you prompted once he was on his feet. Then you bent to tuck the new UWSD into its carrying pouch. “You’re going to want to move slowly. And this collection unit I just fitted has to stay below waist level at all times. There’s this little pouch it fits in when you’re up and about.”

Dean nodded, glancing sideways at you. “Capiche.”

“And one of us is coming with you to the bathroom,” you finished. You could see the argument building in his expression before he voiced it. “That part’s non-negotiable, Winchester. There’s still an IV on a stand that has to go with you, and if you fall, or this unit doesn’t stay at the right level, we’re looking at major setbacks.”

Dean sighed. “Fine, fine. Whatever. I need to move a little.”

“Do you feel steady?” you asked.

“I’m good,” he said with a nod. 

“I’ve got him,” Sam assured you, pulling the wheel-mounted IV stand around closer.

Dean gripped the IV stand with one hand and reached up with the other to lift your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Hey,” he said softly. “I’m good. Promise.” And the smile that lit up his face was so genuine and warm that you couldn’t help but return the gesture.

You watched as Dean walked slowly from the infirmary, Sam hooking one arm under Dean’s as they went, taking the couple of stairs out one at a time while Sam lifted the IV stand with his free hand.

They were gone all of five minutes, but those minutes ticked by slowly as you resisted the urge to peek out into the hall or sneak down to the bathroom to check on them. You only let yourself relax when you heard their voices approaching again on the other side of the door.

“I came. I peed. I conquered,” Dean said with a grin as he and Sam made their way back to the bed.

With Sam’s help you managed to get Dean comfortably situated again - well, as comfortable as he could be while laid up in the infirmary. Sam announced that he was heading to the garage to unload the supplies he’d brought back from town and told you to holler if you needed him.

You thanked him as you checked Dean’s chest tube for kinks. Once you were certain the tube could continue to drain properly, you clipped the pulse ox monitor to his finger. His heart’s rhythm had been regular for long enough that you didn’t feel the need to have an EKG on him at all times now, but you still wanted to keep an eye on his vitals.

“One to ten?” you asked of his pain level.

He held one hand out, rocking it from side to side. “Maybe a four.” You frowned at him, trying to decide how truthful his answer was, and he gripped your hand with his own. “Sweetheart,” he said, a smile tugging at the corner of his perfect mouth. “I’m good. Really.”

And it was there in those green eyes. The assurance that he knew what you’d been through to save him. That it had been nothing short of an emotional roller coaster after having just saved a couple of very sick teenagers. That you were happy to do it, even if it was hard as hell some days. All you knew he got it.

“You’ll be kicking ass and taking names again in no time, Winchester.”

“Damn straight,” he said as you bent low enough to press a soft kiss to his lips.

Foreheads pressed together, you closed your eyes for a second, taking a deep breath and just being grateful that he was alive and still with you. And that he always seemed to know what you needed before you knew it yourself. 

“What would I do without you?” you said to him.

He gave you an adorable half-smile in response. “You might have occasion to get bored … every now and then.”

“Let’s not find out.” Your phone beeped and you pulled it from your pocket to glance at the text notification. “It’s Chief Richards,” you told him.

“What’s she say? Hope it’s good news.”

You read her text quickly and summarized it for him. “Sounds like Dylan is being released soon. She’s asking for permission to give him and Luke my phone number so he can video call to talk with us a little later.“

"That’s awesome,” Dean said, smiling as he watched you type in a response.

“Remind me to grab our FBI jackets for that call,” you said to him. “We’ll at least pretend to go along with the ruse.”

A day cooped up in the infirmary was a long one, but you knew for Dean it was ten times worse. 

He really only had the short walks every hour or so to look forward to, and even those were a chore. You’d taken to wandering the bunker a little further with each walk, knowing that it was good for him and forced him to breathe a little deeper. 

Sam had been in the mess hall when the two of you had slowly wandered in. “Well, look who’s stomach led him straight to the fridge,” Sam said.

“Why the hell not?” Dean countered as he pulled the door open to gaze at the contents inside.

“Oh hey,” you said to Sam. “Would you mind grabbing our FBI jackets from the car? Dylan and Luke want to video call and I figured the least you and I can do is try to look the part.”

“Sure. No problem.”

You glimpsed Dean pulling a long necked bottle from the fridge and you casually snatched it from his hand and tossed it to Sam. 

Sam caught it, snickering a little at the disappointment on his brother’s face. “Dude, you’ve literally got a tube coming out of your chest. Do you really think drinking is a good idea?”

“It’s not hard liquor,” Dean defended. “It’s just a beer for hell’s sake.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re grumpy,” you told him, gripping his jaw lightly and kissing his stubbled cheek.

“I’m not grumpy, I’m sober.” He glared at you while you pulled a Gatorade from the fridge and offered it to him.

“Right now that’s kind of the same thing, honey,” you told him. “But if it helps I’ll do it with you. No drinking for either of us until you can have a shot of whiskey, okay? You know, solidarity and all that.”

Dean watched you, seemingly caught somewhere between appreciating the gesture and the desire to snatch another cold one and see if he could get far enough away from you fast enough to have a swig. 

It was silent for a heartbeat while he chewed his bottom lip, but the sound of Sam twisting the cap off the beer you’d thrown him cut through the silence. Dean directed his bitch face over your shoulder at Sam, who shrugged innocently.

“Don’t look at me,” Sam said. “You’ve literally got my blood running through your veins. That means I get a pass.”

You smiled, taking Dean lightly by the shoulder and directing him over to the table to sit down. “Come on, big guy,” you said, running your hand over his hair as he sat. “I’ll make you a grilled cheese. How does that sound?”

“Yeah, okay.” Dear glared at his brother as Sam sipped the beer, but didn’t utter another word of complaint as you made the sandwich and grilled it in a frying pan.

You made Sam one next, and then a third for yourself. And the three of you ate a meal together in the mess hall. If you ignored the chest tube and IV stand, it was almost a normal thirty minutes for the Winchester family in the cozy Men of Letters Bunker.

“Take the call here in sick bay,” Dean suggested after you’d helped him to get comfortable in the infirmary bed again. “I know I can’t really be seen like this, but I’d like to at least be able to hear how they’re doing.”

“Of course, honey,” you told him.

Sam tossed you your FBI jacket when he walked in and you pulled it on.

You were only two poker hands into playing cards to entertain Dean when the call came. You and Sam stood with your backs to the cold lockers when you answered, seeing Dylan’s and Luke’s faces immediately occupy the screen.

“Hey,” you and Sam said together in greeting. 

They waved, calling out hello in response.

“Agent Moore is, uh, stuck in a meeting he couldn’t get out of,” Sam offered preemptively. “He wanted us to pass along his best wishes.”

Dylan nodded, smiling.

“You’re looking good,” you told Dylan. “Feel better?”

“Much better,” Dylan answered. “Almost back to my old self.”

“Which means he’ll be causing trouble again any day now,” Luke added, elbowing Dylan in the ribs lightly.

“They’re releasing you, then?” you asked, smiling at their light banter.

“Dr. Richards says my labs are normal. They’re having me follow up with our family doctor in a week, but I feel great. Whatever you gave me, it did the trick.”

“That’s great news. We’re really glad to hear that,” Sam said. 

“Yeah, well, I just wanted to thank you guys,” Dylan said. “I’ve had some time to think, but mostly I’m trying not to think about where I’d be right now if you all hadn’t-”

“He’s trying to say you saved his ass,” Luke interrupted, bumping Dylan’s shoulder with his own.

“Even we had help with that,” you added for Luke’s benefit, catching his quick little wink in response.

“Is that - are you guys in a morgue or something?” Luke asked, squinting and moving the phone closer to his face to look at the cold lockers that were part of the wall behind you. 

“Oh, you know, working another case,” Sam answered, shrugging nonchalantly.

Dylan’s eyes grew wide. “Sick. You guys have a crazy job. Maybe I’ll look into becoming an agent when I’m older.”

“The FBI doesn’t want morons,” said a voice off screen that you recognized as belonging to Dylan’s sister Nora.

“The field training is apparently hell,” Luke told Dylan. “Am I right, guys?”

“Absolutely,” Sam agreed, smiling.

“How’s Leah doing?” you asked.

“She’s okay, I think,” Luke said. “She’ll be better once Kenny is.”

You smiled for him, nodding. “Tell her we said hi.”

“We will,” the boys answered in unison. 

“Tell Agent Moore I said hi, and thanks,” Dylan added, “for, you know, saving my ass.”

“We’ll be sure to pass that on,” you said with a chuckle.

A woman’s voice in the background called Dylan’s name just then. 

“That’s my mom,” Dylan said. “Guess I’m busting out of this joint.”

“It was good seeing you on your feet,” Sam said.

“You guys look out for each other, will ya?” you added.

“Will do, doctor.” Luke gave you a thumbs up as you waved goodbye.

When the call ended you put your phone back in your pocket and looked up at Dean to see the satisfied smile on his face.

“He looks good,” you told Dean, reiterating what he’d missed on the screen. “I think he’s going to be okay.”

“Good kids,” Dean said fondly. “Young and dumb, but good kids.”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, well, better than old and dumb.”

“Who you calling old?” Dean said, feigning insult.

You grinned at them both and sat back down to your poker hand, fanning out your cards in one hand and throwing a few chips in the pot.


	26. Chapter 26

There was minimal drainage from the chest tube during the night, and Dean’s oxygen saturation was back in the normal ranges. You’d told him he could go without the oxygen after removing it to go into the mess hall for breakfast, and he’d been happy to free himself from at least one tube. 

You and Dean took slow walks through the bunker to kill time throughout the day, and while you noticed his strength was returning to him gradually, he still tired a little easier than he would have admitted. In between movies and walks you pulled out a couple of board games to change things up a bit. 

Dean did less complaining than you expected, given his restrictions, and you suspected that had something to do with the fact that he knew he’d done all of this to save you. It was a constant reminder of what he’d sacrificed by working the spell, and that he didn’t want you to think for one instant that he might regret that decision. 

It was late afternoon when you were measuring the drainage in the UWSD unit, confirming that only 260 mL of blood had collected in the last 24 hours. His pulse ox was holding steady at 97.

You lowered the light blanket covering Dean to expose his chest.

Using a percussion technique, you lightly tapped points on his chest with your fingers, listening for any telling changes in the sounds as you went. 

“Not very musical, is it?” Dean joked. “Rib cage xylophone, I mean.”

“All sounds exactly like it should,” you told him with a smile as you put on your stethoscope. You helped him to sit up straight, holding the bell to his skin and listening to a full breath cycle at each auscultation point. You compared sides, hearing symmetrical breath sounds from right to left, front to back.

“Can you take a deep breath for me?” you asked, listening to the way his lungs both fully expanded before he exhaled. “Good. One more time?” Dean did as you asked. “How does it feel when you take a deep breath like that?”

Dean leaned back again, giving you a lopsided grin. “So damn good I can hardly stand it.”

You laughed softly and set your stethoscope aside, applying some of the ultrasound gel to his skin and giving him an apologetic smile when he sucked in air through his teeth at the cold. Sliding the transducer along, you carefully studied the images on your phone’s screen, taking great care to evaluate the entire area surrounding his right lung.

“You know, you bite your lip a little when you concentrate real hard,” Dean observed as you side-stepped and moved the transducer laterally. “It’s cute … sexy, even.“ You paused long enough to give him a quick peck on the cheek in response. "What are you finding, anyway?” he asked. 

“It’s more about what I’m not finding,” you clarified. “What I’m not finding are pockets of fluid that would mean there’s still blood in your chest cavity.”

“Really?” Dean’s voice was genuinely surprised.

“Really.” You set the transducer down on the supply cart and wiped the gel from his chest with a paper towel.

“Don’t tease me, sweetheart,” he added with a grin.

“I would never,” you said, smirking at him. “Seriously though, Winchester … what do you say we lose this chest tube?”

His eyes sparkled as he answered. “Good lord, woman, I thought you’d never ask.”

Sam was chewing on a pencil at a table in the library, his laptop and an old book laid out before him.

“Hey,” you said as you walked in. “You got a few minutes?”

He straightened, dropping the pencil to the table with a tink. “Sure.”

“Great, thanks.” He joined you and the two of you made your way back down the hall toward the infirmary. 

“Everything okay?” Sam asked as you walked.

“Yes,” you assured him. “I could say I just need an extra set of hands, but honestly your brother may need some moral support.”

“Chest tube is comin’ out, Sammy!” Dean announced excitedly when you rounded the corner and walked through the door to the infirmary.

“That’s awesome,” Sam said with a smile as he understood your earlier comment.

Dean had had his last dose of pain medication in his IV half an hour ago, and it was time to remove the IV from the back of his left hand. When you were done you placed a square of gauze and a strip of tape over the vein to stop the bleeding.

Dean gave you a grateful wink, flexing his fingers and making a fist, apparently happy to have his left hand free. You brought the rolling cart with a sterile drape, suture kit, and sterile gloves to Dean’s bedside. You sat on the stool at his side and sterilized, prepped and draped the area. Sam stood over your shoulder to have a good view of the area so he wouldn’t miss out on the action. 

You carefully pulled the sterile gloves on one at a time. “I did a knotless stitch when I closed this wound around the chest tube,” you said, pointing as Sam watched. “I’ll be able to tighten that up like a zipper once the tube is out.”

“If you’re a baby about this I’ll never let you hear the end of it,” Sam said to Dean, earning a sarcastic smile from Dean in return. It was exactly the type of moral support Dean needed from his brother. The distracting but honest kind. They both knew Dean was in good hands, and their confidence in you was ever humbling.

You took hold of the tube with your left hand, double checking that you could reach the rolling cart. You looked to Dean, meeting his eyes. “Okay big guy, you’re going to take a really deep breath and hold it and I’ll slide the tube right out. Just hold still for me while I do. Okay?”

Dean took a breath, blowing it out his pursed lips as he nodded.

“Deep breath on three,” you said. “1, 2, 3….”

Dean inhaled and you pulled on the thoracostomy tube, quickly freeing it from the incision and pinching the skin closed tight with your free hand as you did so. “It’s out,” you announced, setting the tube aside. You pulled on the remaining suture line to seal up the rest of the incision. “You can breathe now, babe.” you assured Dean with a smile. 

Dean exhaled nice and slow, controlled.

The technique was so simple and effective, and the only thing left was to cut the excess from the suture. You picked up the sterile scissors and trimmed it flush, watching the edge disappear just below the skin as you released it. And the gaping hole in Dean’s chest was no more.

“That’s it?” Dean asked, breathing way more shallow than was necessary.

“That’s it. Promise.” You grinned at him and said, “You’re almost good to go, big guy. I’ll just add some Dermabond real quick so you can take a shower and get it wet.”

Dean finally took another deep breath, exhaling with a sigh of relief. 

Sam put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, squeezing lightly. “It’s over man. She’s got you fixed up, good as new. And you should have seen the way she pulled that stitch and the hole just sealed right up. Maybe I should have videoed it for you.”

Dean gave him a thumbs up and said. “I’ll take your word for it, Sammy.”

You applied a thin coat of Dermabond over the incision site. “Might be a few minutes before it dries to the touch,” you told him as you tossed your sterile gloves in the trash. “You can sit up if you don’t touch it with your arm until then.”

Sam gripped Dean’s left hand and helped pull him into a sitting position while Dean swung his legs off the edge of the bed.

“Are you light headed or dizzy?” you questioned.

Dean shook his head, eyeing the tube that sat there on the rolling cart, still connected to the UWSD on the other end. “Can’t believe it’s finally out.”

“Long couple of days, huh?” Sam said sympathetically.

“The worst of it’s over now,” you told Dean, brushing your thumb over the scruff on his jaw and bending down to give him a quick kiss.

“What now, Doc?” Dean asked. “I know you’re not about to tell me we can go find a case and hit the road to work me out of this cabin fever.”

“You’re a lucky man most days, Winchester, but not that lucky.” You moved the rolling supply cart out of the way and raised an eyebrow at him. “You really going to pretend you’re up to fighting monsters just yet?”

Dean frowned, eyeing the incision on the side of his chest. He tested his shoulder motion, moving his arm slowly up above his head and rotating it around some, relaxing again with a heavy sigh. “Maybe not.”

“Hurts?” Sam asked.

“Just a little sore,” Dean assured you both, including you with a glance as you watched him. “I imagine that’s normal after having been skewered with the mother of all smoothie straws.”

You sat next to him on the bed, bumping his knee lightly with a fist. “Technically you shouldn’t be lifting anything heavier than a gallon of milk with the right arm for the next week or two.”

“Psh…. Gallon of milk,” he scoffed.

“But you do need to take it easy and work your way back up to things,” you warned. ”I think you’ll find you’re more tired than you expect. Takes a little bit for your energy to get back to normal. In the meantime, the best way to work out the stiffness and soreness is just to use that right arm to do everything you normally would in your day to day - with the exception of fighting monsters.”

He looked down at his incision again, reaching over with his left hand to test the tackiness of the glue on the edges. “Think we’re good here,” he said, getting to his feet. “Think I’ll start with that shower you mentioned. Sounds amazing.”

You and Sam let Dean walk out of the infirmary alone, but then Sam eyed you and pointed toward the door where Dean had gone, saying, “I’m … I’m going to, uh - make sure he doesn’t fall and die or something.”

You laughed out loud and nodded, gesturing with a jerk of your chin for him to follow his brother. Sam knew you wouldn’t have let Dean go alone if it wasn’t safe, but if he wanted to mother hen Dean for you while you cleaned up the mess in the infirmary, well, you weren’t about to stand in his way.


	27. Chapter 27

It took a good twenty minutes of cleaning and gathering used sheets and blankets to toss in the wash before the infirmary looked like it had before Dean had moved in. When you made your way back through the bunker afterward, you weren’t all that surprised to find Sam sitting on the floor in the hallway just outside the bathroom, back propped up against the wall. **  
**

He grinned sheepishly as you approached, shrugging. “No loud banging noises to make me believe he’s dead in there yet.”

“I’ll take over, Brawny,” you told him, offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet with a grunt. “Thanks for looking out.” Sam stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets as he walked away, leaving you to knock lightly on the bathroom door and call out, “Dean, honey? It’s just me.” You let yourself inside the bathroom, breathing in the steam and the smell of soap that filled your nostrils as you closed the door behind you. “Doing okay in there?”

“I’m good,” he answered over the sound of the running water. “Hey, what’s this new body wash in here? That’s not Sam’s, is it?”

“That’s for you. I asked Sam to grab it when he went into town because I saw you were running low.” You snagged his towel from the hook and held it out for him to take when he pulled back the curtain. 

“Thanks, sweetheart.”

You smiled and leaned against the sink until he emerged, towel around his waist, with big rivulets of water running down his neck and chest. “Feel better, big guy?”

He closed the space between you, taking your chin gently with one hand and tilting up so his lips could meet yours in a tender kiss. Your heart thrummed with warmth and adoration. “Much better,” he said, stealing another quick kiss for good measure.

“Well that’s a relief. Your brother’s been hovering in the hallway, afraid you were going to slip and die in the shower.”

“Little overprotective, even for him,” Dean said. “I mean, that only happened one time. And it was years ago.”

You smiled, rolling your eyes at him. The two of you made your way to the bedroom and Dean changed into a pair of jeans before slowly, carefully attempting to pull a Henley on. 

He got a little stuck with the the shirt on his head, struggling with the angle of his arm, which you knew had to be causing pain in the muscles on the right side of his chest.

“Hang on, I gotcha,” you said, gently tugging it into place so his head could slip through. He brought his arms down slowly, sighing and pouting. “Was my big strong hunter just defeated by an evil shirt?” you teased lightly, earning a smile from him.

The smile didn’t last, however, and he shook his head. “I’m useless.”

“Hey,” you said softly. “Just because the tube is out doesn’t mean you’re all healed up. The incision is going to heal in over the next couple of weeks, but there’s going to be some residual soreness and stiffness that might last longer. Just don’t get too anxious about doing too much too soon. You’ll get there. You’ve just got to be patient. I know that’s not your forte.”

Dean didn’t bother arguing. There was no need. He knew you knew him better than he knew himself most days. “Yeah, okay.” He stood for a moment, gazing longingly at the bed the two of you shared.

“Tired?” you asked. “If you need to turn in early nobody will blame you. You’ve had a long couple of days.”

He shook his head. “Nah. It’s not that. It’s just going to be nice to be back in this bed tonight. With you. That’s all.”

You stepped up close and gently put your arms around his waist, hugging him and pressing a kiss to the spot over his heart. “What do you want to do until then?“ you asked him, staring into the green of his eyes.

He didn’t hesitate to answer. "Get me out of here. Let’s just go for a drive or something. Anything.”

You weren’t surprised by that response. “Now that I can do, but you’re riding shotgun, Winchester.”

Dean rested his forehead against yours, then pressed a quick kiss to your lips. “Deal.”

“Meet me in the garage in twenty,” you told him, stealing another kiss before you turned to go.

You went directly to the mess hall and threw together some sandwiches, drinks and snacks, loading it all into a little portable cooler.

When you knocked on Sam’s door he called out for you to come in. You found him sitting on the bed, a book in his hands. He seemed pleasantly surprised when you handed him a plate with a sandwich and some chips, along with a bottle of water.

“What’s this for?” he asked, eyes sparkling with amusement.

“I’m taking your brother out for a drive to get some fresh air. Don’t say I never gave you anything,” you teased with a wink.

Sam chuckled and said, “Thanks.”

When you carried your little cooler and a blanket out to the garage you expected to find Dean standing around waiting for you, or maybe even sitting impatiently in the truck.

But he was sitting behind the wheel of the Impala.

You put the cooler and blanket in the back of the truck in the container there and walked around to the Impala. 

He rolled the driver’s side window down as you approached, prompting you to lean over and peer inside at him. You couldn’t help but notice he’d pulled on a second layer in the form of a plaid shirt.

“Hey there, Winchester,” you said, smiling at the way he was gently gripping the steering wheel with his right hand.

He cocked his head to the side to meet your gaze. “Hey, Doc.”

“I thought we agreed you were riding shotgun tonight.”

He took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “We did. I will. I just …”

You patted his shoulder. “I’ll be in the truck when you’re ready, big guy. No hurry.”

He gave you a grateful smile, nodding a little as you took a step back.

It had only been days since the three of you had returned from the hunt involving the Gu Sorcerer in Wichita. You’d gotten out of the car and caught your duffel which set off the hemothorax, and caused you to promptly pass out on the garage floor.

But it had been a long few days, and to Dean - who had been critically hurt after taking on your injury - it must have felt like much longer.

The slight chill that traveled the length of your spine at the thought of your last memory in here likely paled in comparison to what Dean must be thinking. He’d watched you faint in that spot right there, and then had to gather you in his arms and haul you inside to the infirmary to deal with the aftermath.

If he needed a minute to come to terms with that, or with whatever else might be going on inside that pretty head of his, you would wait as long as he needed.

You climbed in the driver’s seat of the truck you’d inherited from your brother, turning the radio on low and settling in.

But it was only a few minutes before the truck’s passenger door opened and he climbed inside, moving just a little slower than usual. He rolled down the window and then put a hand on your knee.

“You good, honey?” you asked.

He gave you a half smile and said, “I’m good.”

You almost believed him. 

If you had anything to do about it, he’d mean it just a little more by the time you got back tonight. You started the engine and pulled out of the garage, heading North toward the 40 to Kansas City.

The late afternoon sun was warm and inviting, and you tossed Dean the pair of men’s sunglasses you kept on the dash for him. He chuckled a little, but put them on while you put on your own pair and rolled your window down, too.

He leaned over to turn the radio up a little to hear the song over the sound of the wind and the road noise. 

He was quiet during the drive, but it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence. You knew he was just deep in thought, and hoped this drive would help him clear his head a little. You hummed along to the radio, enjoying the breeze and realizing just how much you needed this little outing, as well. 

You pulled over at a little park on the outskirts of Kansas City, just a little more than a half hour drive from the bunker.

Dean carried the little cooler with one arm while you snatched up the blanket and picked out a spot on the grass. You spread the blanket and sat down with your legs crossed on one end, patting the spot in front of you for him to do the same. He crouched down, spreading his legs out in front of him and getting comfortable while you opened up the cooler and produced a sandwich for each of you. 

“When I said I needed to get out, I wasn’t expecting a full-on picnic,” he said with a grin.

“Too much?” you asked, pulling your sandwich from the baggie. 

“Not at all. It’s kind of perfect, actually. I don’t know how you do that, but-“

"Do what?”

He chewed his lip for a heartbeat and then said, “Give me exactly what I need, even when I don’t know I need it.”

“That’s just love,” you said simply. “You do the same for me.”

Dean considered you a moment, smiling. Then he opened his sandwich and took a bite, humming in satisfaction as he chewed. “Damn good sandwich.”

“I’m glad you like it,” you said, opening a bottle of water to sip and handing him the other.

The two of you chatted and ate on the blanket on the lawn with the sun warming the skin on your face, your reflection shining back at you in the lenses of the sunglasses he still wore. 

“You know,” he said as he reached for a potato chip. “I haven’t forgotten our little deal.”

You narrowed your eyes in mock confusion, knowing full well what he was referring to. “What deal?” You could almost see the way his face fell, but he wasn’t giving up so easily.

“The deal - we made a deal back at the hospital when you pulled me into that on-call room.”

“Oh … _that_ deal,” you said slowly, a playful smile spreading on your lips. “You still want to play doctor? After all the doctoring you’ve had the last few days?”

“Not the same thing,” he said, holding up a finger. “Not even close.” You laughed and shook your head while you gazed at him. “Besides, you promised,” he added. “And you’re not getting off that easy.”

You quirked an eyebrow at him.“And I thought getting off was the whole point.”

He cocked his head a little to the side and leaned in closer to you. “Well sweetheart, now you’re just making me blush.”

You met him halfway, smiling against his lips as you kissed him. “You get healed up first and we can play doctor all you want, Winchester.”

Dean kissed you again, this time on the cheek. “I’m going to hold you to that, woman.”

Your phone buzzed and you pulled it out, seeing a text that made you open it up to read it immediately.

“What’s up?” Dean asked, seeing the focus on your face as you did.

“It’s from Dr. Richards,” you told him.

“The Chief? Is everything okay?”

You smiled and nodded, saying, “She sent me a link to an announcement in the paper reporting that Kansas City Memorial is making a donation in Curtis Matheson’s name to the Botanica Wichita Gardens to have the Butterfly House rebuilt.”

“Is that so?” Dean smiled and took a sip from his water bottle. “I knew I liked her.”

When you finished eating and had gathered up your things into the little cooler again, Dean carried it back to the truck where you stashed it, along with the blanket, before climbing in the cab again.

“Where to next?” he asked as you started the engine.

“Dessert,” you said simply. You pulled out into the road, knowing exactly which way to go to reach your destination.

Dean chuckled - a beautiful rumble deep in his chest - as he realized you were pulling up to a 7-11. 

You grinned victoriously as you put the truck in park and turned the key, climbing out and meeting him around front. The two of you walked hand-in-hand into the convenience store to get whatever flavor of Slurpee was currently on tap.

Once back inside the truck, you turned to Dean and said, “Anywhere else you want to go while we’re here?”

He took a big sip from his bright green Slurpee straw, then looked immediately like he regretted it, raising his palm to cover his right eye, pressing against his face and sucking in air through his teeth as he fought an apparent brain freeze.

“Son of a bitch!” he said, slapping the dash with his free hand and making you laugh.

“I’m sorry,” you offered, still grinning as you patted his shoulder. “Put your tongue on the roof of your mouth. It helps.”

“I’d rather your tongue was on the roof of my mouth,” he said without hesitation, but he did lower his hand away from his eye and shake his head a little, blowing out a breath that made his cheeks puff a little.

“You gonna live?” you asked, smiling over at him.

“Maybe,” he said, looking at his Slurpee cup like it was a damned traitor.

“Take it easy, Hoover,” you teased.

“Can we hit up the Cabela’s store before we head home? I need some shotgun shells, new brass and some primers.”

“You got it.” You put the truck in gear and pulled out onto the road again. 

The three items Dean had planned to pick up in the Cabela’s turned into twelve, but that was no surprise. He never was able to walk into a sporting goods store and not come out with at least double what he’d had on his list. But you didn’t mind. You enjoyed watching him fill a cart with all the items he deemed necessary to keep you and Sam and himself safe while fighting monsters. And Dean Winchester knew his shit. You weren’t about to argue when he tossed in a new hunting knife and said you were due a new one. 

“I know you’re a little attached to the one you have, but one more good sharpen and there won’t be much left of the blade,” he said.

The sun had all but disappeared when you walked back out into the parking lot. The two of you loaded up your goodies in the container in the back of the truck and headed for home. 

You both ditched your sunglasses on the dashboard, watching the last fading rays of daylight through the window as you moved down the highway. 

You turned up the radio and tapped out the bass and snare drums on the steering wheel with your thumbs, singing along to Sultans of Swing as you drove.

“You get a shiver in the dark. It’s a raining in the park, but meantime…. South of the river you stop and you hold everything. A band is blowing Dixie, double four time. You feel alright when you hear the music ring…” You felt his eyes on you as you drove, and you glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

He shook his head softly. “Nothing.” 

But a smile pulled at the corner of his lips that you just couldn’t read. You narrowed your eyes at him, trying to decipher his expression. Then he turned his head to gaze out the window.

So you went back to singing. “… young boys they’re a foolin’ around in the corner. Drunk and dressed in their best brown baggies and their platform soles. They don’t give a damn about any trumpet playin’ band.”

A well-timed glance from the corner of your eye was enough to spot the little dimple in his cheek that accompanied the adorable half-smile playing on those lips of his. 

You hoped that meant it was working. That this really was what he’d needed tonight.

Then he joined in on the next line with you, singing, “It ain’t what they call rock and roll. Then the Sultans … Yeah the Sultans they play creole, creole.”

You couldn’t help the little laugh that burst out of you when he began playing air guitar during the solo.

And god it felt good. 

Just being with him like this. Like your entire world wasn’t sure to come crashing down around you in one way or another again soon. 

Like you could just breathe. And he could do the same. 

And the fresh Kansas air might just heal a few things in ways even the best medicine never could. 


	28. Chapter 28

Two weeks after the chest tube had come out, Dean was back to normal - or so he wanted you to believe. The incision had healed nicely without complications, and he was itching to go out on the road and kill “some evil sons of bitches,” as he’d put it. You’d strongly encouraged him to hit the bunker’s make-shift gym and test his limits first, suggesting he start off with some weights - lighter weights, more reps - and then work his way up before eventually moving onto to hand to hand combat.

Whether he was taking your advice to heart, or just overly eager to prove himself and get back out there, he spent quite a bit of time working out over the next week in anticipation of whatever hunt came up.

A few well-timed glances from Sam was all the confirmation you needed to rest assured that Sam was at least keeping an eye on him, even if Dean didn’t realize to what extent that was happening. 

By the end of week three you knew you couldn’t stop him from hunting if the occasion arose. Whatever case came up, you’d all be loading up in the car and headed for a fight. You just hoped he was ready.

Dean and Sam were both in the library on his laptop, no doubt scanning headlines for wind of a case, when you enacted the brilliant plan you’d been scheming about since the night before. If he were successful in finding a case, you’d all be headed out asap, so there really was no time to waste once you knew what you needed to do.

To say you were happy with your plan would have been an understatement. After the recent incident involving your and/or Dean’s hemothorax, and the need for Sam to direct transfuse blood for him, you never wanted to find yourself in a situation where one of you needed blood you didn’t have on hand ever again.

The solution was obvious. Or at least you’d thought it was. The three of you clearly needed your own little blood supply in the bunker.

Blood could store well up to 42 days when refrigerated, so you set up a little mini fridge in the infirmary and decided there was no day like today to get started on stocking up.

Dean and Sam were both AB blood types, and as such, could donate for each other. You, were type O and could donate to both of them. As an O, you were unable to receive AB blood from Dean or Sam, which meant that you needed to stash enough of your own blood to donate to any of the three of you, should the occasion ever arise. Again. 

Knowing your luck, it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.

Everything was going fine,that was until you overestimated your ability to safely donate 2 pints at once, especially while doing all the work yourself. Knowing that Dean would likely hate your plan and try to talk you out of it, you’d opted not to tell him and Sam what you were up to.

Just a little more, you told yourself as you watched the fluid level in the bag draw closer to the marker at the top that would signify a complete second pint. You wiped at your brow with the sleeve of your free hand.

_God, is it really that cold in here? I should have grabbed a blanket…._

You didn’t even hear Dean approaching, but the sound of him calling your name had you looking up to see him rushing toward you from the infirmary doorway.

You blinked a few times to bring things into focus, annoyed that your vision had gone a bit blurry. You had a feeling you should be more concerned about that than you actually were in the moment.

“Dean?”

“Sweetheart, what have you-”

“I … I’m preparing,” you managed. Your tongue was thick and heavy in your mouth, making the words come out a little slower than normal.

Dean was at your side now, moving so quickly it made your head spin. You closed your eyes against the wave of dizziness that rolled over you, but that seemed to worry him. 

He cupped your cheek with a hand, cursing under his breath. “Stay with me, you hear?” 

You blinked up at him, then looked just past his shoulder at the blood bag. You squinted to be sure, but the blood bag seemed to be full now. “There,” you said, giving him a half-smile that felt dangerously similar to the ones you always gave him when you’d had a little too much whiskey. “All done.”

But Dean was two steps ahead of you, already sliding the small catheter from your vein and pressing a square of gauze there to stop the bleeding. He hooked the supply cart with his shoe and pulled it closer, snagging a roll of Coban. With a series of quick motions he circled the self-adhesive wrap around your elbow to hold the gauze in place. 

Speaking of whiskey, a shot would definitely warm you up. _Yeah, whiskey…. That’s what you needed._

Dean took his eyes off you for half a second to set down what was left of the Coban roll and you managed to get to your feet, feeling a little like you were floating as you found yourself falling into him.

“Whoa! Hey, hey, take it easy,” he chided as his arms came around you. He turned while holding you upright and sat down on the chair himself, pulling you onto his lap. “I’ve got you now.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted. 

“I’ll decide.”

You were tempted to move again to prove it, but your limbs really weren’t cooperating. It was like a heavy weight had you tethered down, making even breathing more of a chore than usual.

Dean gently pressed his fingers to your throat, feeling your pulse. “Think maybe you got a little overzealous with donating your life’s blood to save us all from something that hasn’t even happened yet?”

Your head rested against his chest and you breathed in the scent of him, filling your lungs. “Mmmm…. You’re so warm … and comfy.”

“And you’re a lightweight.“

You sensed he wanted to be angry with you, but knew he wouldn’t have it in his heart to keep up the act for long. He reached over with one hand to fumble around on the supply cart for the pulse ox monitor, clamping it over one of your fingers.

“It’s tachy,” you observed in a detached sort of way as you glanced at the reading. 

But Dean completely misinterpreted your comment in his determination to lecture you. “What’s that supposed to mean? So you can do all this, put yourself at risk, but the minute I try to take care of you it’s _tacky_?”

“Noooo. My pulse … it’s tachycardic.”

Dean lifted your hand to inspect the reading himself. “Ninety-nine…. Shit, sweetheart. You gotta stop trying to be a goddamn hero.”

“That’s hilarious,” you said sarcastically, pointing at him with the finger that had the monitor clipped to it. “Pot.” You then turned your finger on yourself. “Kettle.”

But Dean just gripped your wrist to straighten your arm out so he could wrap an automatic blood pressure cuff around it, too intent on the task to even acknowledge your comeback. “Tell me this is it,” Dean said, gesturing to the pair of bags hanging nearby that contained your blood. “Just the two, right?”

You nodded, but a seed of anxiety planted itself in your stomach at his question.

Two…. _Two measly pints of blood._

What the hell good was that going to do anybody? At this rate, it was going to take you forever to get any kind of supply, especially if you couldn’t even handle giving two at a time. And the air in the room felt thinner at just the thought.

“Hey, come on now. Just keep breathing.” There was a new level of concern layering Dean’s tone. “We need your pulse to go down, not up.” Then he pulled your hand to his chest and took a deep breath, letting you feel the motion of it against your palm. “In and out, nice and slow. Come on, sweetheart. Breathe with me.”

You tried to do as he asked, focused on drawing air into your lungs. Breathing was harder than it should have been. And faster, more shallow. And way more effort than was comfortable.

“That’s my girl. Just like that. Keep it up,” Dean encouraged.

“What’s going on?” came Sam’s voice from the doorway. He walked into the room, eyebrows raised with worry as he scanned the scene before him.

“She put some of her blood in baggies,” Dean said with a frustrated sigh. “Tryin’ to store ‘em up for an emergency.”

Sam looked pensive then as you gazed up at him from Dean’s lap. “That’s actually not a bad-”

“Don’t encourage her,” Dean cut him off. “It was too much.”

Sam was instantly repentant. “Are you okay?” he asked you. 

You liked that he’d actually asked you instead of his brother. “I’ll be fine…. But I’m not gonna lie, this is not … how I imagined this going down.”

“Can you grab a blanket?” Dean asked Sam. “She’s like a flannel-clad popsicle.”

Sam did as Dean asked and pulled a warm blanket from a nearby cupboard, helping Dean to wrap it around you a little. Dean was chewing his bottom lip as he watched your blood pressure reading display at last. “120/103,” Dean muttered. “Not cool.”

“The blood’s not cool,” you realized, glancing at the bags.

“No, your blood pressure,” Dean corrected. “And you. Risking yourself like this. It’s not cool. And your blood pressure … well, it’s not terrible, but it ain’t right.”

“No,” you insisted, feeling your agitation grow as he wasn’t understanding what you needed him to do. “It has to go in the fridge … or it will go bad.”

“The blood?” Sam asked, following your gaze to the bags.

You nodded. “It has to stay cool.”

“Yeah, well, that’s the least of my worries,” Dean grumbled.

“Dean Winchester, you listen to me,” you said with all the gusto you could manage as you hovered somewhere between wanting to throw up and really, really wanting a nap. “If I did all this for nothing … because you … you just let it go to waste….” 

Hearing just how pitiful your voice sounded as the words left your mouth made you even more anxious, though in hindsight it may have contributed to Dean’s taking pity on you.

“Little help here, Sam?” Dean said gruffly, gesturing with a jerk of his chin toward the hanging blood bags. Sam worked to disconnect the tubing and seal up the second bag.

“Over there,” you said, pointing with the pulse-ox finger toward the little mini fridge on the opposite wall and watching as Sam put the bags inside to your great relief.

“What do we do?” Sam asked then, looking between the two of you.

“Help me get her to our bedroom,” Dean stated. You shifted anxiously in Dean’s lap, tugging the pulse-ox clip off your finger. “Hey, uh-uh. That stays put.” Dean took your hand and clipped it to your finger again. “Same goes for that,” he said as you eyed the blood pressure cuff on your bicep.

“What? No. I don’t wanna.” you whined. “I’m - I’m feeling a little claustrophobic, what with the monitors, and the blanket … and you being all overprotective.” 

“Too bad,” Dean said without missing a beat. He placed the little BP display unit on your lap.

Before you could comprehend what was happening Dean was shifting your position in his lap and rising to his feet. He carried you bridal-style through the hallways of the bunker, Sam following closely behind.

“Could you maybe not spin around so much?” you moaned.

“The only thing spinning is your head,” Dean replied as the previously dull ache behind your eyes swelled to a pounding that had you closing them tight against it.

Sam opened the bedroom door for Dean as you reached your destination, and then he stepped in and pulled back the bedding so Dean could gently set you down on your side of the bed. 

“I’ll go grab her something sugary,” Sam added as he tapped the door frame with a hand and disappeared back out into the hall.

Dean grabbed your stethoscope from your nightstand and climbed in the bed next to you, sitting up against the headboard. 

You leaned over to rest your head in his lap, letting him pull the blankets up over you. Dean took advantage of the position to put on the stethoscope and slide the bell beneath your shirt and hold it to your chest. You were honestly too tired to argue with him, resigned to let him do whatever he wanted to watch over you, as he seemed determined to do. You closed your eyes, focused on the warmth radiating from his body, and willed your muscles to stop their incessant shivering.

Dean didn’t like how quick and shallow your breathing was, and your heart was still beating too fast, but you were conscious, and he was grateful he’d gotten to you in time. 

“Talk to me, sweetheart,” he said as he took the stethoscope off. “How do you feel?”

“Few pounds lighter.”

He let out a humorless chuckle. “Good to know your sense of humor is intact. And in case they didn’t teach you this in med. school, here’s a tip … your blood is supposed to stay inside your body.”

“Dean, people donate blood all the time.” 

“Not like this. Not by themselves.” You didn’t have a rebuttal for that, at least not one your foggy brain could conjure up. "God, doctors really do make the worst patients…. Why didn’t you just tell me what you were planning?” he added. “I could’ve helped.” The bravado in his tone was gone now, and you could hear just how hurt he was.

You sighed, still feeling like you couldn’t quite catch your breath. “You would’ve tried to stop me … and you know it.”

“Yeah? Well, what if you’d fainted with that damn tube in your arm and … ” His voice trailed off and you heard him take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. 

“Don’t be mad at me.”

Dean tenderly brushed his fingers over your hair. “I’m not mad. I’m worried.”

Just then Sam returned with a tall glass of orange juice - complete with a bendy straw - and a package of cookies. Dean helped you sit up, leaning against him with his arm around you and the blanket pulled up to your waist. He held the glass of juice for you as you sipped from the straw. 

It took a few minutes to get the juice down, due in part to the low-lying nausea that had taken up residence in your stomach, but by the time Sam returned with a refill on the O.J., you’d managed to eat two cookies and we’re working on a third. Your body seemed to know it needed the pick-me-up, which helped you push through.

Your fingers still trembled as you nibbled on the cookie one bite at a time, and you watched Dean eyeing the numbers on the pulse-ox clip he’d insisted you leave on your finger. 

Sam brought more than just juice with him when he returned the second time. Tucked up under his arm, you spotted the little leather booklet he referred to as your ‘Cliff Notes’, or as Dean had taken to calling it, ‘Medicine for Dummies: A Hunter’s Guide to Fixing What Hurts Like Hell.’

Sam took a seat in the chair nearby and thumbed through the pages. “Apparently it can take up to forty-eight hours for the body to regenerate plasma and lost blood volume,” he declared for Dean’s benefit. “But it can be four to eight weeks before the red blood cells are regenerated.”

You leaned against Dean’s shoulder, willing away the dizziness that seemed intent on staying with you. “I’m going to finish these cookies … and this glass of juice, take a power nap and sleep this off…. I’ll be good as new.”

Sam gave you a slow smile. “I hope so.”

Dean stayed with you when you’d eaten enough cookies to satisfy him. You curled up in bed and he turned on a movie on the TV and settled in to watch over you.

Your power nap turned into a two-hour siesta. Dean was propped up against the headboard, still watching the TV, when your eyelashes fluttered open and you blinked up at him.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” he said with a smile. “How you feeling?”

You sat up slowly and took stock of your body. “Better,” you said. And it was true. Your head wasn’t pounding, the room wasn’t spinning, and the anxiety that had taken root in your stomach had all but dissipated. 

Dean watched you appraisingly, but he seemed content with your answer. You slid over closer to him and leaned against his shoulder, feeling his arm come around you from behind.

“Your pulse and your breathing leveled out over an hour ago,” Dean said. “You were out like a light,” he elaborated. “Even the blood pressure cuff inflating didn’t wake you.”

You bit your lip, considering him. “I seem to have slept the worst of it off.”

Dean kissed the top of your head, and his voice carried a layer of practiced patience when he spoke again. “Sweetheart, you can’t scare me like that.”

“I’m sorry.” You meant it. You hadn’t intended for he and Sam to even find out, let alone find you bleeding and going into hypovolemic shock. “I wasn’t trying to be careless. I just-”

“I know,” Dean interrupted. “That golden heart of yours is sometimes a little too big for your body, that’s all. But even it can’t supply an army with an emergency blood stash.”

You shrugged, smiling a little. “It can try.’

Dean quirked an eyebrow as he studied you. “I tell ya what, Doc. I’ll make you a deal.”

“A deal?”

“Yeah.” He intertwined his fingers with yours. “You promise to let me and Sam give our own blood as an emergency supply for each other, and I’ll help you put just enough of yours away to give back to you, should the time ever come.”

“You mean it?” you asked, your voice lilting up at the end. 

“Just no more of this sneaky shit. And one pint at a time for you, missy. Capiche?” His eyes fixed on you, waiting for an answer.

You nodded, happy with the arrangement. “Capiche.”

“But you’re taking it easy for the next few days,” Dean added sternly. “Nothing strenuous. Got it?”

You saluted him like a soldier obeying a command. “Whatever you say, Winchester.”

He chuckled, smiling as he sighed. “I should really get that in writing.”


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the final chapter in Act V, but not the end of the saga.

It was a week after your well intended but overzealous attempt to stash away your blood for an emergency that Sam walked past you in the war room while he was talking on the phone. He paused his conversation long enough to lower the phone and say, “Hey, I’m headed out. Might not be back til morning, but don’t worry.”

You frowned at him. "Sam, hold up. Is everything okay?”

“What? Yeah. Fine.”

“Are you hunting?” you asked, hand on your hip. He was acting weird, and he hadn’t said a word about a case.

“Well, not exac-”

“Wait, is that … ”

You moved fast enough he didn’t see it coming, snatching his phone to look at the caller I.D. on the screen.

“It is,” you whispered excitedly.

“Grabby hands,” Sam said dramatically, but he was smiling and you didn’t miss the hint of red creeping into his cheeks.

You held the phone up and said, “Hey, Addie!”

“Girl, I’ve missed you!” she replied with surprise at hearing your voice.

“We need to catch up sometime,” you agreed. “Maybe we’ll make a trip to Florida soon.”

“You know you always have a place to stay, and we’d love to see you all.”

“I think you’d love to see Sam,” you teased.

“Well, maybe that’s true,” she admitted coyly.

“Alright, I’ve tortured you both enough for one night. Whatever you kids are up to, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You heard Addie snort as you handed the phone to Sam and he rolled his eyes at you as he took it back.

“You’ve been married to my brother too long,” he said as you grinned up at him. “Anywaaayyy … ” Sam said into the phone, waving a dismissive hand at you as he stepped around you to make his escape.

You thought you heard him say something about being there in a few hours, which meant Addie wasn’t far - certainly not Florida far.

You snickered as he made his way up the stairs. It was just way too much fun giving him shit. You couldn’t resist. And he was probably right about Dean rubbing off on you.

And speaking of your husband, he’d finished changing Baby’s oil an hour ago and would have been showered by now, but you hadn’t seen a trace of him. You headed for your room to see if he was there. 

As you walked the halls of the bunker, you gushed over the fact that Sam was going to meet Addie somewhere, rationalizing that she may even be traveling for business and couldn’t resist getting in touch with him. Then you wondered exactly how serious things between them might be. Sam wasn’t one to volunteer information, and as he was literally an expert at keeping secrets, you realized you’d have to question Addie later to get the scoop.

When you opened your bedroom door Dean was standing near the head of the bed, setting something down on the nightstand, but what caught your attention and made your heart skip, was the fact that he was donning a pair of green surgical scrubs and had your shiny black stethoscope in one hand..

His eyes locked on yours and there was the smallest hint of a smile on that gorgeous face of his. “You’re late for your appointment,” he said in a gravelly tone that made your knees weak. “Come on in. Close the door.”

You stepped in the room, sweeping the door shut behind you with one hand.

“I’ve been reviewing your medical history, including your recent blood loss,” he said with a casual air that was impressive, even for him. 

You mentally rolled your eyes at his thinly veiled chastisement over your carelessness when trying to stash away your blood.

“I’ll need to do an exam,“ he continued, "to determine if you’re healthy enough to engage in rigorous physical activity once again.”

“Oh, you mean hunting?” you teased, knowing full well he wasn’t talking about work.

“Is that what the kids are calling it these days?” he quipped without hesitation.

You grinned and took a step forward. “Whatever you say, Dr. Winchester.”

“Have a seat,” he said, gesturing to the bed, and you obediently sat down on the edge.

He pulled a chair over to sit directly in front of you, reaching for your hand and gently securing an automatic blood pressure cuff around your wrist. He turned it on, watching as it inflated.

You sat patiently, feeling vulnerable in the strangest way as you gazed at the man you were lucky enough to call your own. The green of the surgical scrubs made his eyes even brighter somehow, and they pierced right through you as he waited patiently for the reading.

“Blood pressure is elevated,” he observed when the cuff had run its course. He took your hand in his, fingers gently sweeping along yours as he gazed at the reading. “So is your pulse. I’m not sure you’re ready for any type of excessive physical activity just yet.” He removed the blood pressure cuff from your wrist.

“I feel just fine,” you assured him. “Certainly you’ll take my symptoms - or lack of them - into account?”

Dean’s eyebrow crooked just the slightest bit at your response. “I haven’t finished with my exam yet,” he managed. “If you’ll remove your top, I need to listen to your heart and lungs.”

“Of course.” You started at the top and slowly worked your way down the buttons on the front of your shirt, eyes locked on his face the entire time. You saw his Adam’s apple bob when he swallowed, watched his jaw clench just before he made himself busy with setting the blood pressure cuff on the nightstand.

When your red and white plaid top was unbuttoned, you slid it down your shoulders and shimmied a little to free your arms from the fabric, setting the shirt aside. You rested your hands on the bed just behind you, leaning back slightly and taking a deep breath that exaggerated your cleavage even more than the black shimmery push up bra you were wearing already did. 

Dean cleared his throat and fumbled adorably with the stethoscope as he put it on, lifting the bell to rest it against your skin. The feel of cold metal as it landed just inside your left breast above your bra cup sent a little chill down your spine, and you shivered involuntarily at the feel of it.

Dean was biting his bottom lip now, whether in concentration or just to put on a show like he was concentrating. He listened for a moment before sliding the bell a little further down, tucking it just beneath the fabric of your bra to listen again.

“Take a deep breath for me,” he instructed. 

You did as he asked, inhaling slowly and letting it out. And you had to hand it to him, he was doing a damn good job of staying in character. You wondered how long he could keep it up. Wondered what it would take to get him to break?

You could feel your heart pounding now that you were paying attention to it. You knew he was hearing every excited, exaggerated beat. You cast your eyes downward to watch as he moved the bell one more time, not surprised to see that your heartbeat was actually visible in your chest, your bra shaking a little with each forceful contraction of the muscle.

“And another?” he asked, but you heard it in his voice this time. He was more than a little wrecked. You took another deep breath as he’d asked, exhaling slowly.

“See?” you said to him after he’d taken a good listen.

“It’s fast,” he answered matter-of-factly, removing the stethoscope.

“And strong and steady,” you added without hesitation, reaching up to touch his arm. Then you had an idea, and just like you’d done with Sam’s phone, you quickly reached for the stethoscope, finding little to no resistance as you took it from him. 

“Let me see,” you said, pretending to handle the instrument awkwardly as you struggled to get the earpieces in. You held the bell to your own chest, and Dean watched in amusement as you listened to your own heart beat, though you could tell he was doing everything in his power to keep a neutral expression.

You knew exactly how to handle that.

“Here,” you said, swiftly moving the bell of the stethoscope from your own chest and pressing it to his.

He leaned back an inch or two in surprise at the motion, but you moved with him, maintaining the stethoscope’s contact with the fabric of his scrub top. And just as you knew it would be, his heartbeat was just as elevated as yours, maybe more so.

“See?” you repeated. “Yours is just as fast as mine. And you’re obviously strong and healthy, Dr. Winchester….” You gazed up at him from underneath your lashes, biting your lower lip coyly as you waited for his rebuttal.

The fire in his eyes was growing by the second, and while you expected a smile to spread across those perfect lips of his, his eyes narrowed instead, jaw clenching. “God dammit, woman,” he practically growled. “You’re so much better at this than me.”

With one swift move he tackled you to the bed so abruptly you had the wind knocked out of you for the space of a heartbeat. You giggled when you managed to draw in a breath, and Dean sucked lightly on your throat just near your pulse point.

“It’s infuriating how good you are at that,” he said, his warm breath tickling your ear now.

“And no man has any business looking this damn hot in what very nearly resembles green pajamas,” you retorted. “And yet, here we are.”

He flashed you that sexy Dean Winchester smile then, the one that made your heart soar like it was made only for loving him. He tucked his head down to trail kisses along your collarbone and down your cleavage, tugging on the fabric of your bra with his teeth and making you laugh.

His hands slid behind your back and he rolled you sideways with him in order to reach the clasp on your bra. He released it, tossing it aside and guiding you to lie back down. He took a nipple in his hot mouth, tongue swirling circles around it and lighting up all the sensitive nerve endings in the best way.

You closed your eyes, enjoying the feeling of his mouth on you, moaning softly as his large hand cupped and fondled your other breast at the same time. When he released your nipple with a pop, he trailed light kisses down to your sternum where he paused, lips resting in the spot where your heartbeat had been visible just moments ago.

“Mine,” he said possessively, and the fact that he was claiming your heart out loud like that in what you could only call his “Doctor tone” - now that you knew he had one - made a flood of liquid heat run straight to your core. 

He kissed his way down your stomach, sliding his hand down below the waistband of your jeans and finding evidence of exactly what he was doing to you as his fingers slipped inside your underwear. He teased at you there for a moment, fingers brushing lightly against your most sensitive spot, but only in ways that made you crave a heavier, more deliberate touch. 

You raked your fingers through his short hair, gripping and tugging until he glanced up at you. “Are we going to do this with my jeans on?” you asked when you had his attention.

“Someone’s impatient,” he said with a satisfied grin, tucking down to plant a soft kiss near your belly button.

“If my pants stay on, so do yours,” you stated, looking down toward the bulge in his scrub bottoms.

“To hell with that,” he said under his breath as he tugged at the waistband of your pants. You lifted your hips to aid in his efforts until he managed to free you from the denim. 

He took a second to pull his scrub top over his head and discard it before he crawled over you, his face hovering just inches above yours. He placed the softest of kisses on your lips, a whisper of a kiss, really. You leaned up toward him, trying to prolong the contact, and enjoying the chuckle that rumbled up out of his chest at your eagerness.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said slowly, brushing a strand of hair away from your face as he gazed down at you. “Maybe I haven’t finished my exam, after all.”

“Oh really?” you asked, quirking an eyebrow at him. “What more could you possibly want to know?”

“Honestly? I’m leaning toward a stress test of some kind.”

“A stress test?” You let out a disbelieving laugh at that and stared up at him, wondering what on earth he knew about stress tests that would lead him to believe that would be fun and sexy. “What exactly did you have in mind?”

Another whisper of a kiss, longer this time.

“Unlike most stress tests, you just get to lie back and enjoy this one while I give you a bit of an adrenaline spike.”

“I think I like the sound of that,” you said, smiling up at him and turning your head slightly to give him access when he peppered kisses along your throat. 

He took his time then, kissing a trail down your flesh, between your breasts and along your stomach until he reached your right hip bone. 

Then he moved off the bed, gently pulling your feet until he slid your bottom to the very edge. “Oh yeah,” he said, straightening in a hurry. “Can’t forget the most important part.” He snatched your stethoscope off the bed where it lay nearby and put the earpieces in his ears, kneeling on the floor between your legs and bringing the bell up to rest over your heart. “Little help here, sweetheart?”

You humored him, holding the bell in place at the same time you wondered how you’d let him flip things on you like that again. But you didn’t have time to debate for long, because that glorious tongue of his licked right up your center, stealing your breath and kicking your heartbeat into overdrive.

He paused to look up at you then. “I think this stress test was a good call,” he said with a cocky grin as he ducked back down again to repeat the motion, this time adding a finger into the mix to stretch you open.

One finger soon turned into two, pistoning in and out of you at an angle that made your breath quicken and your jaw go slack while you focused on the sensations flooding through you. The air in the room got heavy and hot as Dean pushed you further and further toward that precipice that would steal your breath shortly and set your nerve on fire. You were close … so close … when he teased you with a few kitten licks and sat up to gaze at you with hunger in his eyes.

You whimpered at the loss of contact, eyes squeezing shut tight and breath ragged as you waited for him to continue. But he was still, staring at you in fascination. 

“Dean,” you breathed. “I’m so close….”

“I know you are,” he said, voice low and husky. You lifted your head to meet his gaze full on. He still had the stethoscope on. You’d almost forgotten you’d been clinging to the bell with one hand, holding it in place for him. “Your little heart is thumping so goddamn hard I just wanted to make sure it wasn’t going to try and stop on me.”

The shit-eating grin on his face then was nothing short of victorious.

“The only thing stopping is you,” you whined, wiggling your hips a little to entice him back between your thighs.

“Didn’t know I could do … well, that,” he said, eyes falling to where you were holding the stethoscope tucked up against the inside of your left breast.

“Dean Winchester,” you said adamantly, letting go of the chest piece and leaning up on your elbows to sit up a little. “You make my heart soar on a regular basis. And I’m more than happy to prove that whenever you’d like evidence…” You leaned forward and took his face in your hands, kissing him slow and deep. You removed the earpieces from his ears and set the stethoscope aside while your tongues danced. Without breaking the kiss, Dean returned his fingers to your center, rubbing that sweet spot and enticing you back toward the edge. 

You moaned against his mouth and he broke the kiss, rising up far enough to cradle your head with his free hand and gently spread you out before him on the bed again, crawling up to hover over you. His fingers teased at you, dipping and circling and stroking adamantly as he tucked his head down, lips wrapping around your nipple to draw it into his hot mouth. 

You were panting softly, out of breath from kisses and the endorphins rushing through you. He stretched out next to you on the bed and pulled you to him, your back to his chest now as you lay on your side. He gripped your leg to raise it up far enough for him to slip inside from behind, and you gasped at the stretch that accompanied him plunging into you. His other hand slid beneath you against the mattress to angle up and cup your left breast, but you didn’t miss the way his fingers rested firmly against where the apex beat of your heart could be felt - exaggerated even - by this position. 

You hooked your leg over his, freeing his other hand as he rolled his hips and moved in and out of you at a controlled pace that burned in the best ways. He began stroking your clit again, drawing another moan out of you, and with the combination of him penetrating you from behind, filling you to the brim and lighting up all your nerve endings, you found that you were tumbling over the edge faster than you’d anticipated. Your breath hitched, muscles clenching with the force of the orgasm that tore through you. Dean’s hand gripped your hip bone to hold you in place as you rode out the pleasure as it surged through you, hot and hard and unforgiving.

He stilled in his movements for just a moment, long enough - you suspected - to feel your heart kicking violently against his hand. Then he was pumping in and out of you mercilessly, chasing after his own climax which came only a few thrusts later. He hugged you close to him, tucking his head into the crook of your neck as he filled you with his release before he collapsed flat on the mattress behind you. 

One arm still pinned beneath you, he used it to roll you toward him, collecting you in his arms and pulling you to his side to recover. You’d only just started to get comfortable when he said, “Oh, wait, hold on,” and reached for the stethoscope you’d discarded earlier. He put it back on and you smiled at him adoringly as he tentatively raised the bell to your heart again. “Gotta finish my test.” 

You rested your head against his shoulder, still trying to catch your breath, and closed your eyes as he listened, blissed out in your post-orgasm haze and perfectly content to bask in it while he finished playing doctor.

Dean was completely caught up in the beautiful thrumming of your heart as it slowed in its efforts and settled into a nice relaxed pace. And he couldn’t say it out loud - because his throat was suddenly constricting with emotion - but he knew exactly how close he had come to losing you just a few short weeks ago. There was just something about your heart beating loud and clear - like a drum track to a song he loved from the very first chord - that suddenly had tears forming in his eyes.

He resisted the urge to sniffle, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that he was losing it, and then wondered if he’d been lucky enough to have you fall asleep in his arms. Your heartbeat and breathing were soft and slow, and he’d almost convinced himself he’d dodged a bullet.

“Okay, big guy?” you whispered, not moving from the spot you’d laid your head to rest just below his shoulder.

“Yeah,” Dean said, removing the stethoscope with one hand and setting it aside in an attempt to busy himself and be more convincing. “Why do you ask?”

“You’re swallowing … like excessively,” you gently prodded. “And, well, I can hear your heart from here, too.”

“Well goddammit, I can’t help it,” he blurted out. “I’m turning into a teenage girl or something.”

And now you had to raise your head to look at him, finding a mixture of embarrassment and frustration in his expression. But there was something else in those green eyes, swimming just beneath the surface. You couldn’t place it.

“Was the sex that bad?” you teased, happy to earn a shocked chuckle from him in response to your absurd question.

“I guess I’m still a little freaked out about … well, everything,” he finally admitted.

“Hey,” you said softly, cupping his cheek with a hand and gazing into his eyes.

“It’s just … ” He took a breath and sighed, wiping at his eyes with a hand. “We do the craziest shit together. We risk our lives every damn time we hunt. And sometimes that just hits me harder than others. That’s all.”

“We’ve already established I’m no princess,” you said, smiling and leaning in to kiss the corner of his mouth. “I’m not fragile or helpless.”

“I know,” Dean said with a nod. “God, I know that better than anyone.”

“Passed my stress test, didn’t I?” you added with a smirk.

He chuckled again. “With flying colors. Doesn’t mean I’m not gonna worry. I get to worry.”

“Of course you do,” you agreed softly. “That’s what we do for the ones we love. We worry about each other and we carry on. But we do it together. Right?”

Dean sighed, nodding again. “Right…. Maybe just no internal bleeding - you know what, scratch that - let’s just avoid you bleeding at all for a good long while, okay? Blood staying in the body. That’s a reasonable goal.”

“Whatever you say, Winchester,” you humored him. He kissed you this time, hugging you against his chest and holding you close until you both drifted off to sleep.

******************

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That’s it for Act V. Thank you for sticking with me all this time. The Heart of a Hunter family continues to humble and surprise me. I love you guys with all of my wannabe!Hunter heart! 
> 
> Act VI is next up, and while I’m still hard at work finishing writing and editing it to share with all of you lovely people, I promise it will be worth the wait. Subscribe for a notification when the next act starts to post. I love you all, and please don’t hesitate to send me a message between now and Act VI. I love to keep in touch. I’ll mostly likely do another Q&A or some fun HOAH trivia during the hiatus before Act VI on Tumblr, as well, so keep an eye out for that! Find me on Tumblr at @MuchAmusedAboutNothing if you want to follow and participate in the Q&A.

**Author's Note:**

> Act V will be updated weekly. Check back often for more. Updates go up first on my Tumblr account @MuchAmusedAboutNothing , but I try to add them here within a day or two.


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